


Unfulfilled

by Samantha Quinn (zarabithia)



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-14
Updated: 2006-03-13
Packaged: 2018-08-16 06:05:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8090377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarabithia/pseuds/Samantha%20Quinn
Summary: In the future, two families reflect back on the consequences of the Expanse upon T'Pol, Archer, and Trip. (02/17/2004)





	1. Too Much, Too Late: T'Pol's POV

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers, 2.26 "The Expanse."  
  
I have watched the 2.26 "The Expanse." I have heard the rumors of next season couplings and it depressed my plot gremlin. He and the angst muse got together and wrote this one. We apologize, but at least no one dies. 1.17 "FUSION" AND 2.14 "STIGMA" HAVE BEEN IGNORED!! Vulcans do mind melds in this universe.  


* * *

My husband knows little about my people. He is not one of us. He is a human. I am a Vulcan. He believes the differences to be minimal.

He believes us to be no more different than humans who are adept at suppressing their feelings.

He is wrong, on both accounts.

Then, if he knew my people well, he would understand the significance of my calling him "my husband" and not "my bondmate." Jonathan Archer would know that we are not truly bonded as my people traditionally do with their mates.

He waits for me now, in the bed we share while I sit in a separate room and concentrate on my meditation. My husband is an overly sexual being. Most humans are, I have been told. I knew of his persistence before our marriage. I did not prevent the ceremony.

Nor did I prevent the child that resulted from our union, Koval. Koval was conceived with relative ease. Both his physiology and his persona are primarily that of my people, a fact which causes my husband considerable amounts of distress. Many one sided arguments have been fought by my husband over that issue.

* * *

"It's a kite, Koval."

"What purpose does it serve?"

"It doesn't have a real purpose-it's kind of like a toy."

"A most illogical way to spend time."

"Well, it's a human pastime. I thought you and I could spend it together. I'll show you how to fly it. It'll be fun."

"Vulcans do not have fun, father."

"And you are not a full Vulcan, Koval."

* * *

The relationship with Koval causes my husband disappointment. My mate was very emotionally close with his own father and expects there to be a similar relationship with Koval.

I do not expect their relationship to ever be similar to that of my husband and his father. Indeed there will be more difficulties. Particularly when my son comes of an age when career choices need to be made. His father anticipates Starfleet. My husband calls it a "family tradition." Unfortunately for him, my son longs to build. He has shown great interest in architecture. I doubt he will choose Starfleet as a career option.

Although perhaps he shall become an engineer.

The thought brings unwelcome pain. It is not an unexpected sensation. It is an irrational one, as a mere word should not be enough to cause such discomfort.

Unless that word is associated with Charles Tucker III.

He comes to visit often. Never does he come alone. No, when Charles visits his former Captain and his friend he is accompanied by his wife and son. Although three years older than Koval, Charles Tucker IV and my son spend a productive amount of time together. Their discussions range in topic from the childish comparisons of a Sehlat to a Terran creature known as a Doberman Pincher to highly theoretical discussions of quantum physics of which my son excels to the adolescent fascinations with Maggie Reed's physique. They would not appreciate if they knew exactly how much of the latter conversations I hear; however, they frequently do not take into account my superior Vulcan hearing.

Regardless of the nature of the conversations, I am content that the humanity his father has strove to install in Koval has in fact been accomplished much more efficiently by Captain Tucker and his son.

* * *

"Mother, may I have permission to go fishing with Charlie and Trip?"

"The purpose of this 'going fishing' is to catch fish for consumption, is it not?"

"Yes, mother, but I will not consume any of the animal flesh."

"What then will be the purpose of the activity?"

"Please, mother, I wish to go."

"Koval, Vulcans do not hunt as recreation. You will stay here and can converse with Charles when he and his father return."

"Mother, I am only half Vulcan."

* * *

I had relented. Although I had not questioned Koval, I later suspected that he had indeed sampled a portion of Captain Tucker's cooking in the form of catfish. My son was surprisingly diligent in the consumption of his vegetables for many weeks after the fishing expedition. I suspected his diligence to be a form of penance.

The conversation is an easy memory, as it is the only time Koval has reminded me of his human half. Typically, he shuns the human side in favor of his Vulcan. I have never asked him to chose, nor has his father...yet, he has often rejected the human life. The exceptions being the time spent with young Charles.

Captain Tucker and my husband are pleased with the relationship between our children. The Captain has frequently employed the phrase, "like fathers like sons" in reference to the similarity in their friendships to that of the Captain and my husband. I disagree. When observing my son in the company of Charles Tucker IV, I see a reaction similar to the one Captain Tucker invoked in me in my early years on the Enterprise. The elder Tucker presented me with many obstacles which challenged my strongly held Vulcan beliefs, as the younger Charles Tucker is doing with my son now. As they both appear to have heterosexual tendencies, however, their end shall not be the same.

My son shall have a bondmate, and not just a spouse.

Indeed, Koval reaches ever closer to the age in which I shall have to educate him on the manner of Vulcan bonding. Being twelve earth years, he has only two additional years of what my husband calls "blissful ignorance." I have often disputed the logic of such a term. Yet, I find myself acknowledging the purpose of such a phrase as the impending confrontation between Koval and myself comes.

It is illogical to dread what has not yet passed. Yet, it is also illogical to attempt to postpone the inevitable. Twenty years ago, I could have ascertained which course was the more rational. My time with humans, and in particular, with Jonathan Archer, has polluted my ability to think logically.

Thus, I allow myself the time to contemplate and indeed dread the time of confrontation between myself and my son. I call it a confrontation, for when I explain to my son the process of bonding and the difference in a bondmate, he will know what I know, what all Vulcans know who encounter my husband and I. And he will ask of me the same question that has been asked of me by Ambassador Soval, V'Lar, Constable Skon and my parents.

He shall ask why I am not bonded to the man I call my husband and he calls father.

He shall ask why I did not form a telepathic link between my spouse and myself as is the custom for Vulcan mates. He shall inquire why I cannot sense his father's presence while we are separated. He shall wonder why it means nothing to myself nor to Jonathan when our fingers caress in the fashion appropriate to Vulcans. He shall pontificate why my husband and I need to vocalize our thoughts whereas other bondmates share a linkage that requires no vocalization. Perhaps because he is our son he shall be spared the worst of it. Perhaps he shall not wonder why Jonathan and I share only our physical essence when we copulate whereas other Vulcan couples share physical and mental release. The vulgarity associated with imagining parents in the conjugal act is one shared by our species. I imagine our son shall be spared of the last thought. My memory recalls such a conversation Koval engaged in with Charles Tucker IV.

* * *

"I'm tellin' ya, Koval, Mom and Dad were practically havin' sex right there, on the couch when I walked in. It was the grossest thing I've ever experienced in my life."

"Indeed? Did you suspect that your parents never copulated? How then do you explain your existence?"

"Haha. Gotta love that Vulcan humor. So, ya tellin' me that the idea of your parents knocking boots doesn't disturb ya?" "Knocking boots?"

"Sex, Koval. Screwing, boinking, rocking and rolling, fuâ€”"

"I comprehend your meaning now. The thought is unsettling."

"See? The thought is universally unsettling. Humans, Vulcans-I'm bettin' even the Klingons get queasy at the thought of their parents goin' at it."

"I am inclined to agree, as illogical as it may be."

* * *

The conversation had been one that I was certain I was not supposed to be privy to. Both children had momentarily forgotten that the bedroom walls were composed of substances insufficient in blocking their voices from carrying. They are composed of a much lighter substance than that of starships or the walls of Starfleet Command of which they are accustomed. Still, I had considered their potential embarrassment and kept silent. Neither Jonathan nor Captain Tucker and his wife had been made aware of the contents of the conversation. I cling to the conversation fervently now, however, with the hope that the "queasiness" will prevent Koval from discovering the true horrific nature of what I have prevented his father from sharing.

Nonetheless, Koval shall discover truth of what I have done to his father, even if he never realizes the full magnitude. I do not understand how it is possible, yet all Vulcans Jonathan and I have encountered have known. In the beginning of our union, I was able to attribute it to the fact that Jonathan is human. I can no longer hide behind Jonathan's species. Jonathan and I were the first official Vulcan-human coupling; we have not been the last. Once my people saw the fact that humans and Vulcans could bond, the lack of a bond in the case of Jonathan and myself became even more glaringly apparent. Vulcans have always been able to sense the bonds of others, my parents have informed me. For this reason, I am certain my son shall display the same trait.

What shall I tell my son when he asks why we are not bonded? Shall I tell him the truth? It is the most logical course of action. Yet, it shall undeniably cause him pain. I do not wish to cause my son pain. True, he shall learn to suppress the sensation of pain in time...Yet, he has not learned that skill entirely.

I need to be certain he can overcome pain before I cause him discomfort. My son has never truly faced pain before. Often in my people, it is necessary to overcome a source of pain of excruciating portions before being able to master the ability to suppress pain. Perhaps the knowledge of bonding shall do this for him. There is the possibility that my actions, a source of shame for most Vulcan families, will be valued as a learning tool. It is possible. It is also quite logical.

Logic. How I once believed it to be a perfect panacea.

* * *

"It is time to come home then, and marry, T'Pol."

"Koss awaits me?"

"No, he could not. Your stubbornness made it impossible. By choosing to go with the humans, you were unavailable during his time. He bonded with another. Your father and I have determined a suitable replacement."

"I cannot."

"You cannot?"

"No. I cannot return to Vulcan. My time with the humans has made me incompatible for a Vulcan mate. Nor will I be content to remain planet side."

"You must marry, T'Pol. The time of your first pon far draws near."

"I shall marry a human."

"A human? That isâ€”"

"It is the only logical solution, mother. A human will value the very characteristics I possess which would bring shame and dishonor to a Vulcan mate. I have changed too much to be bonded to a Vulcan male, mother. It is illogical to enter a union which has no chance of being successful. Thus, I cannot marry a Vulcan."

* * *

The very logic I employed in determining my need to bond with a human was used as I determined which human to bond with. Logic dictated it be someone I had served on the Enterprise with. Logic also dictated I confine my search to the senior staff. Lieutenant Mayweather was not a possibility, as he had shown no interest in me. Doctor Phlox, while a friend, was not a possibility as he has three wives and Vulcans do require a monogamous partner.

A monogamous bondmate.

Lieutenant Commander Reed was also not a viable option. During the course of the Xindi Conflict, he had initiated and maintained a relationship with one of the female military commandos.

That left only Commander Tucker and Captain Archer. Both had given hints in the past of their attraction to me. Both were commanding, intelligent men suitable for bonding. The Xindi Conflict provided me with ample opportunity to observe both men's personalities, strengths, and weaknesses. The Conflict had changed both Jonathan and Commander Tucker. The attack and ensuing conflict changed the Captain for the better. He became more focused and dedicated while he gained a true appreciation for how a Captain should behave. Commander Tucker, on the other hand...

 

Doctor Phlox once noted that the human psyche is an interesting, if fragile, phenomenon. The death of his sister transformed Commander Tucker from a caring, compassionate, and gentle man to one consumed by anger, revenge, and hatred. The transition was a decidedly unpleasant one, not only for myself, but for Commander Tucker's friends aboard the Enterprise. I recall well a conversation between Lieutenant Commander Reed and his future wife. They had been having lunch and my Vulcan hearing had heard considerable pain and concern in the armory officer's voice.

* * *

"Malcolm, is everything okay? You haven't eaten hardly a bite all day."

"I'm fine."

"And I can breathe in space without a helmet. Don't lie to me, Malcolm Reed. You do a gallant job at out-Vulcaning the Vulcans, but I know better. Something is wrong, and I expect you to tell me what it is." _Pause._ "Please, Malcolm."

"It's Trip."

"Still? I thought you and he had a talk last night..."

"We did. He's unreachable, luv. I'm worried. I'm frightened. I don't know what to do."

"He just needs time to get over the loss, Malcolm."

"He's had time-he's just deteriorated. You can't understand. You don't know what he was like before the attack. He used to be kind, caring, warm, friendly-now he's an angry, unfeeling bastard. When he shot the Xindi on the planet yesterday, we didn't know if they were civilian or military. Trip didn't care. He just shot them. It wasn't necessary. They weren't harming us."

"Malcolm, he did a lot less damage because you were there to stop him."

"Not before he shot the child."

* * *

Starfleet had placed Commander Tucker on probation after the investigation into the incident revealed the settlement to be a civilian one. The inclusion of children and exclusion of weapons present in the camp provided the necessary clues to warrant such an action. The Captain had been devastated. Devastated that not only had Commander Tucker potentially ruined his career, but hurt because "I never thought Trip would do something like this."

My own grief was not something I anticipated. Yet there was no denying my feelings in the matter. I grieved for the child, for Commander Tucker, and for myself. I looked for signs of remorse, prodded for signs of internal pain. Yet I could see none. It caused me considerable distress. In retrospect, I now know that the feelings of distress had a much stronger reason behind them.

Commander Tucker did not go on away missions for three months following that incident. His first time off the ship was in the presence of myself and the Captain. Knowing my time of pon far was close, I knew I had to make a decision quickly. I studied their interactions, watched their responses, and monitored their emotions. Captain Archer, while retaining his humanity, demonstrated his passion while remaining calm. Commander Tucker's passion was barely contained, threatening to spiral out of control. It became very obvious that Jonathan was the appropriate mate for myself. Commander Tucker was entirely too unpredictable and dangerous. Indeed, his xenophobic tendencies as demonstrated by his attitude towards the Xindi, would make him an unsuitable mate for a Vulcan. Or for anyone other than a human.

Again I experienced grief.

Jonathan and I began to "date" the evening we returned from the away mission. Our dinners became more intimate and our time in the Captain's Mess with Commander Tucker became less frequent. I found myself lamenting the lack of his presence, but forced myself to ignore such sensations. They were illogical, after all. There was no reason for them. Jonathan and I soon announced our betrothal, and I contented myself with the knowledge that I was marrying a man who would not only permit, but indeed encourage me to experiment with the unknown, to satisfy my curiosity, and to refuse to settle for what has always been. In a completely opposite manner of Commander Tucker, space travel had transformed Jonathan into a more accepting man. Far from perfect, yet he was beginning to understand that the human way was not necessarily the best way. Commander Tucker showed no such understanding. Logic dictated that I marry Jonathan Archer.

My husband has a saying, "Love is not subject to the rules of logic." He winks in my direction when he says it. He has no idea how strongly I know that phrase to be true.

I had timed the marriage ceremony to coincide with my first pon far. The ceremony- a Vulcan one-would take place exactly one week before the pon far would render me unable to attend duty. After Jonathan had explained the nature of a "honeymoon" with the insistence that we take part in a ritual, I had deemed it logical to arrange the pon far to coincide with the duration of said "honeymoon." I would therefore be off duty for a lesser amount of time. Such precautions were not necessary, as the Xindi war was over by the time of our ceremony. Yet, I still saw the logic in "killing two birds with one stone," to quote my husband. As it turned out, duty postponed our ceremony; my pon far could not be postponed.

Commander Tucker and I were sent to investigate the possibility of Romulan interference on a Class M planet just outside of the Delphic expanse two days before the ceremony was to take place. The Romulans had provided increasing interference in our plans since the end of the Xindi Conflict. We had no way of knowing of the impending War with the Romulans. Upon arriving on the planet, we were promptly ambushed and placed in a holding cell. Miraculously, I never saw our captors, although perhaps Commander Tucker did.

The pon far came just as it was scheduled. I held out telling Commander Tucker what was wrong. Jonathan and the Enterprise would save us. I was certain.

They did not come in time.

* * *

"It's your time of pon far, isn't it?"

"How do you know of it?"

"Let's just say Kov and I kept in touch. How much longer do you have until...?"

"If I do not mate within the next two days, I shall die."

"I won't let that happen to ya,T'Pol. You're my friend, and the love of my best friend's life. I'm here and if the Enterprise doesn't show up in time, I'll help you."

* * *

He helped me, most efficiently. I am thankful to Kov for keeping in touch with Commander Tucker. I later expressed my gratitude for Kov's assistance by naming my son Koval. I have never asked, but I cannot help but wonder if Commander Tucker knows the significance behind the name of his son's best friend. Jonathan did not entirely like the name. He believed it to sound too much like Soval. Still, I managed to convince Jonathan that we would not have been mated had it not been for Soval's interference.

We would have been bonded, had it not been for Commander Tucker's interference.

The Enterprise, it turned out, came a week after my pon far had subsided. The night of our return, Commander Tucker came to see me.

* * *

"T'Pol...I just wanted to let you know, your secret is safe with me."

"I thank you, Commander. Although I think it only fair to tell Jonathan."

"WHY? T'Pol...That will kill him."

"He is entitled to know why I cannot bond with him."

"Why can't ya bond with him?"

"I realized while in the prison that my passion lies with you. You are essential to my existence. To bond with Jonathan would be illogical, when I care more deeply for you. In addition, I discovered the xenophobic traits I believed you to posses were not as strong as I had thought, as you have been keeping in touch with a Vulcan enough to know the Vulcan rituals."

"T'Pol...Jon's my friend. No matter how you feel for me...Or how I might feel for you, I won't be with you. Not now. He's fallen in love with you. I won't hurt him that way. Ya have to marry him, T'Pol...I won't be able to live with myself if you don't."

* * *

Knowing that Commander Tucker would not have me, I continued with my plan to marry Jonathan. He was delighted to hear me desire a human wedding in contrast to the Vulcan one I had advocated previously. He would not have been as delighted if he had known the truth behind my reasoning.

Vulcan marital ceremonies require a melding of the minds. Had I melded with Jonathan, and became his bondmate, he would have seen the truth. He would have seen the man who truly is my th'y'la. My circumstances required a human husband even more so now than before. Marrying Jonathan and remaining unbonded was the only logical alternative.

As Jonathan Archer kissed the bride, I knew my logic had failed me.

I shall rise now, and go to my husband. There is no sense in reliving the past. I shall wait for the confrontation with Koval for the time in which it is due. I have two more years to determine how to tell him that I am not bonded with his father because his father's best friend is my th'y'la. It is apparent that I should not try to postpone such a conversation for a time in which he shall be able to suppress the feelings of emotional pain.

I am not entirely certain any Vulcan shall be able to possess the ability to be able to do so. If they can, I envy them.


	2. Sacrifices

_Two years later_

I remember when I was younger, I had a copy of Just Being a Man, the autobiography of Zephram Cochrane. I must have re-read that thing at least ten times before the original paper copy gave in and began to crumble to the point of being un-readable. My parents felt sorry for me and bought me a new copy in the PADD format that was becoming real popular at the time. I never gave up the original copy, though.

As many times as I read and re-read that book, I was damn certain I knew everything about him there was to know. There was so much detail in the book, so much life crammed into 350 pages, that there was no way he could have left anything out. Nothing of any importance anyway.

It's only now as I sit leafing through my own autobiography that I realize how wrong I was back then. For all that was in Cochrane's book-from the grandest revelation to the smallest anecdote, the most intimately personal incidents were probably left out.

And I'm realizing now, as I sit here in my den trying desperately to come up with a proper dedication to my own autobiography, that those are the most important events of all. Hell, if Cochrane was withholding any of the secrets I am, not only do I not know him as well as I thought I did, I don't know him at all.

Somehow I doubt he had such demons to hide. But really, how reckless is it of me to make that statement? Anyone reading my book is never going to be able to guess what I'm leaving out, or why. No, they'll pick up my book expecting a book about my exploits as Chief Engineer of Starfleet's first warp five ship, detailing my career rise during the Romulan War, and explanation for why I retired so relatively early. Most of them will want some additional glimpses of the Xindi Conflict, and I'll give it to them, whatever's not classified. As the summary of the book states, they'll be able to "read about Tucker's role in fighting against the Xindi in an effort to save Earth while simultaneously waging war in his own private battle for redemption."

Yep, it's cheesy as all hell. But the powers that be gotta promote it somehow. My editor is so excited about the phrasing that he'll need a new pair of underwear soon, if he's not careful. He's expecting all sorts of breaking records in terms of advance sales. He's bound and determined that it will outsell Admiral's book. That's great, I guess, even if it isn't exactly the real story of my life. But, hell, it's not like I have a choice. Ouch. A little deja vu in that department. Let's not go there today, Trip, huh? With Natalie on a business trip and Charlie off on some adventure with Koval that neither one of 'em wanted to tell me about, the house is entirely too quiet to revisit such old demons. Those aren't safe thoughts to have when a man's all alone.

I have to re-read the book, that's what I have to do. Do a little editing. It's why I'm down here in the first place. Well, that and I expect Charlie and Koval will eventually want access to the work room. Rather than being kicked out, I figure I'll just leave it for them. They do work real well together, and Charlie says Koval's been acting kind of distant, closed off lately. I tried to tell him that sometimes Vulcans can be like that. His response was that I don't know anything about Vulcans. Ouch, I guess my brain wants to go back to that conversation after all. Aloneness be damned.

* * *

"I can't figure it out, Dad. He's never been this aloof before." "Well, maybe he's sick." "No. It has to be something more than that. He's always real good about being a typical Vulcan, but he's really pushin' it this time." "Well, sometimes Vulcans get like that, Charlie. Best thing to do is leave 'em be." "Oh, dad. You don't know anything about Vulcans." "Hey! What about T'Pol?" "You just served with her, Dad. Nothin' personal." __* Nothin' personal. The kid has no idea. But he's a smart one, my Charlie, because the very next day after that conversation I had an eerily similar conversation with the Admiral himself. __* "It's damn frustrating, Trip. It's not like the boy's ever really embraced his human half but...I don't know, he..." "He's a teenager, Admiral. It's normal for teenage boys to go through stages like that where no one can figure out what the hell's gotten into them. Charlie did, I did, I'm sure you did too." "I suppose..." "Admiral, Vulcans go through puberty too." "I know that, Trip. But it's so damn infuriating. The kid's always been so bent on being Vulcan and not human. He refuses to eat meat, doesn't want to eat with his hands, meditates constantly...God forbid he slip up and laugh. The only time he allows himself to have any fun is when he's with Charlie. But the past couple days, he's drawn further into his shell." "Any idea what brought that on?" "He and T'Pol had some type of talk-funny enough, she made an analogy to puberty too. It was just after his fourteenth birthday." "See? T'Pol probably just let him know about some Vulcan secret and he's having a rough time dealin' with it. I wouldn't worry about it if I were you." "But he's my son, Trip. I have to worry." __ __Sometimes I think the bastard reminds me of his relationship with Koval and T'Pol just for spite. Now, now. Happy thoughts, right? Besides, I'm not supposed to worry about the Admiral's son am I? Regardless, I had a little chat with my good friend Kov to make sure none of us really needed to worry. Turns out it's a Vulcan tradition for parents on the fourteenth birthday to share knowledge of the bonding ritual. Poor kid. No wonder he's having such a hard time. His parents aren't bonded.

That, of course, was when her words had come back to me. "He's entitled to know why I cannot bond with him." Stupidly, I had assumed that meant only that she didn't _want_ to bond with the Cap'n. Not that she wouldn't...

But she did try to tell me.

"I realized while in the prison that my passion lies with you. You are essential to my existence."

Essential to her existence. I suppose that's the closest a Vulcan will ever get to saying I love you. Somehow, love just doesn't seem logical enough. It conjures up images of orange blossoms, rose petals and happy endings. Bunch of bullshit, really. Essential to one's existence? Images of not being able to survive without the other without having to deal with the pain of aving your heart ripped from your chest and stomped on at every opportunity. Much more realistic.

I wonder if there are rose petals on Vulcan. Or orange blossoms. I'll have to ask Kov.

"I discovered the xenophobic traits I believed you to posses were not as strong as I had thought, as you have been keeping in touch with a Vulcan enough to know the Vulcan rituals."

I never even questioned her about why or how she came to the conclusion that I was xenophobic. I didn't need to. By that time I had a reputation vastly different from the one I'd had at the beginning of our voyage. Gone was the happy go lucky Trip. Here to stay was the vengeful, angry Trip. At least, that's how it looked to outsiders. Guess none of them ever talked to my shrink. He'd tell them all about the stages of grief. Let's see if I can remember them all: there's denial, anger, bargaining, acceptance...I'm missing some. Sadness, maybe? Revenge, maybe? Funny, I can never remember if revenge is part of anger, or if it's a different stage of grief all together.

Anyway, Doc would tell 'em all about how anger is just one of many stages of grief. Perfectly normal, and all that. One day I turned to him and asked, "Is it perfectly normal to want to destroy an entire species?"

Revenge. Demonstration of anger. Yes, perfectly normal.

How about shooting innocent civilians and children?

The Doc was taken back a bit by that one. See, even he can't justify that. Even he realizes that that makes me a complete monster.

Nah, not a complete one, I guess. It's like I say in the book. If I were a complete monster, it'd be easier to deal with. Because then I wouldn't have a conscience. And then I wouldn't have reoccurring dreams in which the Xindi baby is replaced with Charlie and Koval.

Well, I didn't exactly put that last part in the book. I think I used "human children" instead. Otherwise, people might start to wonder.

And we wouldn't want them to wonder about the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth's relationship with her husband's best friend, would we?

For the first time all day, I'm allowing myself to smile. I can't help but smile whenever I think of it. In the years post-Enterprise, T'Pol is the one in charge. She's the one who calls the shots while the Admiral is nothing more than her _consort._ Nothing is more fun than to watch his face contort whenever some visiting dignitary calls him that. Inside, he's screaming to yell, "No! I used to be the Captain of the Enterprise!" But he just nods his head grimly and I watch his mouth form a fine line. It makes me laugh on one hand, because it's quite childish. But on the other hand, it only reinforces what I already know: he doesn't _deserve_ to be married to T'Pol. If I were married to T'Pol, I would treasure the fact that she has a position more important than I'll ever have. Whenever anyone asked if I were the consort of Ambassador T'Pol, I'd nod and cheerfully answer, "I certainly am!" and as long as the alien wasn't a Klingon, I'd nudge him playfully and ask, "And isn't she somethin' else?"

But I can't do that. Because he's married to her, and I'm not.

Hell, I'm willing to bet that if she told him that he was "essential to her existence," he'd do nothing but complain for days that she wouldn't say she that she loved him. He doesn't want T'Pol as she is. He wants T'Pol with a few modifications. Which is why he never bothered to take the time to learn anything about Vulcan culture like I did.

* * *

"So this bonding-explain it a little more, Kov."

"Why are you so curious about Vulcan mating rituals, Trip?"

"I told you already! Humans are a curious species."

"I cannot help but sense there maybe a more personal reason involved."

"Maybe there is. Gotta be prepared, ya know. Never know when my knight in pointy ears is gonna show up. I want to know how to thank her properly."

"She will not expect you to bond with her as a thank you."

"Funny, Kov. For someone who doesn't embrace all the attributes of Vulcan, you sure do act awfully Vulcan sometimes."

"What was the expression you used? You can take the boy out of Florida but not Florida out of the boy? Perhaps the same can be said of Vulcan offspring."

"Bonding, Kov."

"As you wish, Trip. Once a Vulcan couple is bonded, they share their thoughts and emotions. In many aspects, it is as though their mind is one."

"So, I'm guessin' infidelity is pretty close to nil on Vulcan, huh?"

"The act itself and the identity could be kept secret with the placement of mental shielding. However, unless the affair meant nothing, it is highly unlikely the feelings towards the other could be kept hidden."

* * *

Knowing this, I still turned her away.

Maybe I don't deserve her either. For all that I claimed to understand pon far, in the end, I treated it as xenophobically as I treated the cogenitor, the Xindi, hell, practically everything we came across. I completely disregarded the biological and evolutionary implications and narrowed it down to its crudest: the week before my best friend's wedding, I slept with his fiance.

It's partially his fault. When we got back, the Cap'n was full of "Oh, Trip, you don't know how happy I am to see you both. when I thought I'd lost you and T'Pol...you don't know how much you love someone until you are certain you've lost them."

Yeah, that pretty much goes double when you have actually lost them.

Still, as he went on and on about how much he was certain he had lost us, the guilt just kept piling up. Damnit. Why didn't he know about pon far? Surely T'Pol's scheduling it that close to their wedding wasn't a coincidence. Why didn't he know? Why didn't she tell him? If he'd known, then I wouldn't have felt such guilt about what I had done.

But he didn't know, clearly. And thus, I allowed the overwhelming guilt of what I had done with his fiance to overshadow my own feelings as well as T'Pol's. I momentarily pushed aside the fact for the past four years, I'd been wanting T'Pol. I ignored the fact that each and every time I asked Kov about Vulcan rituals, I was hoping for the opportunity to impress T'Pol. Forgetting how jealous I'd been when they began dating and I was no longer welcome at the Captain's Table. Conveniently, I shoved aside the fact that T'Pol wanted me the most. All in the name of guilt.

I just couldn't handle any more guilt.

I want to hate him for it. But I can't. He's my friend and he always will be. I want to hate her for it, too. But I can't. Because...well, to be honest, because she's essential to my existence too. I could always blame the Romulans for putting us in the prison.

But I can't blame them, either. Because, for all that the time in the Romulan prison changed my life for the worse, it also greatly benefited my life. It was there I began to realize, for the first time, just how damaging my view towards the Xindi was. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I hadn't felt any guilt over any of my actions up to that point. The Xindi were the enemy. Period.

That changed when I saw my first Romulan.

He never saw me. And I was never supposed to see him. While we were being held in a Romulan prison, we were being guarded by Orions. Saw a lot of Orions. Even some of the famed slave girls. Guard's got to have something to do besides watching prisoners, after all. And, our Orion guards were fond of telling us, the Romulans were going to have us sold to the Klingons eventually. Seems our good Captain had placed all of our lives in danger the day he pissed them off. Since we were viewed as little more than cattle waiting to be exchanged, there was little need for our captors to grace us with their presence.

But one fateful night, as T'Pol clung tightly to my body with both of us drenched in sweat, I heard two very heated voices arguing in the hall adjacent to our cell. I figured there might lie the possibility of escape in that argument, so I eased quietly away from T'Pol and crept to a position where I could see what was going on.

There in the corridor stood an Orion man and someone I believed to be a Vulcan male. A Vulcan male with a strange forehead, but a Vulcan male, nonetheless.

* * *

"Perhaps G'Tok was right. You never should do business with a Romulan. They know no honor," claimed the Orion male.

In response, the man I believed to be a Vulcan pulled out a knife and stabbed the Orion in the chest. "You will not dishonor my people," he said.

* * *

His people? I'd been astounded. That meant that the Vulcan male was really a Romulan. Explained the forehead.

I'd never trusted Vulcans. Glancing over at T'Pol, I felt the briefest moment of suspicion surge again. They had tried to hold humans back from space flight, hadn't they? And now the Romulans were doing the same thing, weren't they? My doubts ended the moment T'Pol lifted her head and whispered, "Trip?" That one worded question-and the only time she's ever called me by my name-erased all the doubts I had. In an instant, I recalled the sacrifices she'd made to stay aboard the Enterprise-Koss, Vulcan High Command-and the numerous times she's saved our asses. She wasn't anymore the enemy than I was.

But for a fleeting moment, I had wondered.

That night I didn't get a lot of sleep. It had nothing to do with the demands T'Pol had for me or my body. When I did drift off to sleep, I was rewarded nightmares-a flashback of the Xindi village Malcolm and I had visited three months before. This time, though, it's a Romulan village.

* * *

Hordes are slaughtered. Romulan after Romulan killed. The number of Starfleet officers in my dream triples, while the number of Romulans dwindled.

And then there was only a child. An adorable, pointy eared child with features so much like T'Pol's that I wonder today if I was having some strange ability to foretell the future. I had known the child to be a Vulcan in my dream and I reached for it, determined to help save it.

But someone else shot it.

In my dream, I became hysterical, yelling as loud as I could that they had just killed a Vulcan. An innocent Vulcan child.

"Vulcan, Romulan? What's the difference?" Someone taunts. Then I woke up.

* * *

I never told anyone what I saw in the corridor that night. Fifteen years and one war with the Romulans later, I still haven't told. And I never will.

The incident is when the guilt kicked in. It's also when I began to work towards the "acceptance" part of the grief. So, nah, I can't hate the Romulans.

After the Romulan incident came the wedding. The worst thing I've ever had to endure in my life. I stood by the Cap'n during their human ceremony. I stood by, watching as he said every word I felt. When he said, "I do," I had to choke back "I do too." When they waltzed together on the floor, I pushed back memories of the passion we had shared. Feelings of guilt were fast being replaced by feelings of regret. I'd screwed up. As I watched the Cap'n take her by the hand at the end of the night and lead back towards his quarters, the full impact of what I'd done set in.

Over the next three months, as the Enterprise headed back towards Earth to be decommissioned, I had to listen to both Archer and Malcolm chirp incessantly about how happy they were. Oh, that isn't fair to Malcolm, I guess. He deserves to be happy. Yeah, I was happy for Malcolm, and happy for the Cap'n. But I was so miserable for me that I could have died.

Then it got worse. Gushily over breakfast, my best friend twisted the knife a little deeper and just a hair towards the left as he announced to me the wonderful impending arrival of a baby. T'Pol was pregnant. It couldn't get any worse.

And yet, it did.

We stopped off at a supply depot on the way back home. Guess who was there? Kov. I was as happy as the circumstances would allow me to be. After all, what were the odds of that happening? Kov and I made our way to a nice secluded shuttlepod where I poured my heart out over a bottle of over priced alien ale. I trusted Kov.

* * *

"And now, she's pregnant. A little boy. How the hell did that happen? Aren't Vulcan DNA and human DNA different enough to make that difficult, if not impossible? Humans and Apes can't reproduce, and we're nearly identical."

"True, but Apes are not Vulcan females."

"Why would it matter if they were?"

"Do you remember asking me what the purpose of pon far was?"

"Yes. You said it was for reproduction. But—" I rose at that point, realization hitting me. "T'Pol's having MY baby? Not the Cap'n's!" I turned to leave, determined to have a little chat with Miss T'Pol about keeping such vital things from me.

"Trip! Where are you going?"

"I am going to make certain my child knows who its father is."

"You cannot. You must not."

"What do you mean? I cannot? I have to! I can't let someone else raise my child. Besides, T'Pol loves me more anyway. This whole charade has gone far enough."

"Do you intend to love this child, Trip?"

"Of course I do! That's the point."

"Then you should know that if you make your indiscretions known now, you will cause him great pain."

"What do you mean?"

"Male Vulcan offspring associate a great deal of pride and honor to their male lineage. Their fathers. If the child were female, it would not matter, as she would associate her honor and lineage to that of her mother. But by interrupting the union of T'Pol and Archer now, the son would always know that his father allowed his mother to be mated with another male and did nothing to prevent it. Such an act is dishonorable on Vulcan. It also would cause dishonor as breaking up a union for the sake of feelings is inappropriate on Vulcan as well. Trust me, Trip. A Vulcan son's relationship with his father is one of utmost importance. It is something even I realized. If you cause disgrace to your name by making the truth known now, your child shall suffer because of it."

* * *

I'd never let any kid of mine suffer. So I suffered for him. In silence

When we'd all returned home, Nat had a nice little three year old surprise waiting for me. When Enterprise had come back to Earth following the Xindi attack-well, she was available. And I needed somewhat to vent my grief. She had known me; she'd known Lizzy. She held me while I cried. The holding turned to other things. Baby-making, in particular.

* * *

"I named him Charles Connor Tucker IV," Natalie announced. At my surprised look, she responded, "Well, I didn't figure you were out in space making any other candidates for Charles Tucker IV. And I knew you'd want to carry on the line..."

I thought about that for a moment. And then I thought of the Admiral's Christmas card perfect family. A family that should have been mine. And then I asked Natalie to marry me.

* * *

We've been married ever since. I am as happy with her as I could be with any woman other than T'Pol. She's thoughtful, intelligent, and sassy. Just the way I like 'em.

She didn't like moving to San Francisco, but she agreed. I, of course, had no choice. Not only was Starfleet headquarters now based there, but so was another very important aspect of my life. One blue eyed Vulcan boy, in particular.

The Enterprise was only decommissioned for a year when the Romulan War broke out. When the Romulan War began, Starfleet was so set on having experienced commanders in charge of their suddenly expanded ships that they were willing to look past my digressions. Thus, they offered me my own command with an accompanying promotion. I took it.

Natalie was pretty pissed. But I had to go. I had two little boys who's lives depended upon it. And when the War broke out, the dream I'd had in the Romulan prison became more recurrent. Thankfully, no one saw a Romulan and lived to tell about it.

Well, I've wasted pretty much the whole day and still haven't come up with an appropriate dedication for this book. I could dedicate it to the Admiral. That'd be appropriate. But entirely two sided. He'd take it as a compliment; I'd mean it as an insult. As in: "Thank you for influencing my life in more ways than one." Oh, and thanks for being a pretty good dad to my kid. I would have helped, but letting him know would have screwed up his life.

No, probably not a good idea.

This train of thought is not helping with the dedication.

The quiet sound of a knock I know to be Koval's sounds on my door. Charlie's knock quickly follows and is louder, more insistent. "Come in," I say to both of them.

As they enter, I notice the change in Koval's demeanor. The kid does seem depressed, in his own Vulcan manner. Time to cheer him up. "Hey, you guys wanna go fishin'?" I offer. He will only go fishing with me and Charlie.

Charlie rolls his eyes, and Koval gives me the infamous Vulcan eyebrow raise. Damn, he looks like his mama when he does that. "We've already been fishin', Dad," Charlie explains.

"I see. Catch anything?"

They nod. "We came to inquire if you would like to help us in the preparations," Koval offers.

I do adore hearing that kid talk. "Sure thing-ya gonna be a fugitive again, Koval?" I ask.

The child arches his chin proudly. So much like his mother. "My mother and father have never stated that I could not consume meat. I simply chose not to."

"Except for catfish," Charlie teases.

"Yes, except for catfish. I find it to be a nemesis of sorts," Koval agrees solemnly.

"Oh don't feel bad, kiddo. It's in your blood to like it, ya know," I tell him. Then realizing my mistake, I add, "Your dad's real fond of it."

Koval's eyebrows furrow a bit. "He claims not to appreciate catfish."

Damnit,that's right. He hates the stuff. "Must have confused him with someone else. Happens when you get to be my age."

Charlie snickers, "Yeah, and dad's pretty old. He gets confused a lot."

Koval does not reply, but his mood seems lifted a bit. Enough for him to ask, "Perhaps for desert we could have pecan pie."

Catfish and pecan pie. And the Admiral hasn't caught on? It's a miracle. "Yeah, I could use some comfort food," I agree, tossing the PADD on the desk. The dedication can wait.

"Yeah, so could I," Charlie grumbles.

"Why's that?" I ask as we head towards the kitchen. "Now one of ya take cleanin' duties and the other of ya guttin' duties."

"I will take the latter," Koval volunteers. "I am more detailed."

"Well, I won't argue with you," Charlie agrees.

They have the nasty job. I set about to fix the pecans, occasionally glancing up to see how harmoniously they work together.

"So, Charlie, why do you need comfort food?" I demand again.

The boy's face flushes and he mumbles something in coherent.

"What was that? You know the hearin' goes when ya get to be my age," I tell him, wondering what devil got up in the middle of the night and ate half my pecans. Still enough to make due, I guess.

"He said, 'Ya'd need comfortin' to if the woman ya were in love with tore your heart out, stomped on it, and then ate it for lunch,'" Koval clarified, mimicking Charlie's accent perfectly.

Part of me wants to laugh. Part of me wonders if I should tell him it's likely only to get worse. But the parent in me does neither. "I remember feeling that way once. My grandma Tucker-you're great-grandma, she gave me some pretty good advice." I don't add that the advice was after I had been married to Charlie's momma for a full three years. "I said, 'Grandma, I just don't know what I'm gonna do. I'm in love with this woman but she's with someone else. It's drivin' me crazy.' She demanded to know why. 'Well,' I said, 'because, I love her but I can't be with her. And it's ruinin' my life." All of which were true enough.

Charlie and Koval have stopped their fish duties and are both looking at me expectantly. "Well, what'd she say to that?" Charlie demands.

"She said, 'Nonsense!'" I allow a soft laugh as I see their shocked expressions. I'm sure I looked pretty much the same eleven years ago. " 'Trip,' she said, 'all you have to do is realize that you can love someone even though you can't ever be with them in this life. Once you accept that, everything will fall into place.'"

I think about that. I have a job I love, a wife that loves me and two wonderful children who are both happy and healthy. I am happy. Maybe not as happy as I could be, but I have a good life, nonetheless.

"Well?" Charlie demands.

"She was right," I respond.


	3. Archer's POV

_A Year Later..._

Starfleet Headquarters The alien-he has an unpronounceable name to anyone but Hoshi and T'Pol-gives me a look of incredible disdain. "Admiral Archer?" he inquires.

"Yes," I answer, trying desperately to hold onto my remaining shreds of dignity. "I'm Admiral Jonathan Archer."

He gives me a look I wouldn't give to my worst enemy. "What exactly is your Ambassadorial role?"

"I'm not an Ambassador," I reply, trying hard not to grit my teeth.

"I see," the little orange man answers. "What exactly do you do, Admiral?"

"I teach command tactics at Starfleet Academy," I tell him.

He snorts, making his tiny nose shrink even smaller. "What do you know of Command tactics, Admiral?"

T'Pol, who has quietly been allowing the conversation to progress, steps in at that point. "Jonathan," she says in a quiet voice. It's her warning voice. The same one she uses with Koval.

"It's alright, T'Pol," I assure her. Besides, I'm not a child. She can't _warn_ me as though I am. To the alien in front of us, I answer. "I was Captain of the Enterprise from 2151 to 2156," I inform the alien. I admit, I do say it with some degree of pride. After all, there's only one Enterprise. And I was her Captain.

"Ah, yes," the alien nods his head. "A ship your father helped design, is that correct?"

See? Even this obnoxious little man has clearly heard of my father's ship. I can't help but feel proud when I respond, "That's right."

To my surprise, the man laughs. "Then you are a sadder case than I previously believed. At first I believed you lived off your own past achievements. Instead, I discover you glean your glory from a dead man's accomplishments!" With the end of his sentence, he begins to laugh nastily.

I can feel my hands began to clinch. I want nothing more than to slug the bastard. That should put him back into his place. T'Pol knows me well, and places a warning hand on my shoulder. It's her equivalent of "don't even think about it." I don't know why. I've never slugged an Ambassador. On the other hand...maybe it's a good idea.

"G'To'Plk, Admiral Archer is my consort," she says to the little orange man. "It would please me if you would treat him with the accompanying respect that he is due."

Her consort. But of course. Ambassador T'Pol's trophy husband.

The alien in front of us is immediately remorseful. "I humbly apologize, Ambassador T'Pol. I did not realize."

T'Pol nods once. "There is no offense taken," she replies.

I'm not allowed to disagree, of course.

* * *

I escape a lecture from T'Pol for my behavior only because we're having dinner with the Trip and Natalie tonight. I suppose she'll still reprimand me after we leave. I already know what she'll say, because I've heard it many times before. She'll tell me that the bondmate of a Federation Ambassador has certain expectations attached to him and that if I can't uphold those obligations, then perhaps I shouldn't attend the Federation events with her.

She's right—I"ll acknowledge that much. But damn it, I did help save Earth from imminent destruction. Is it really that conceited of me to want some sort of acknowledgement for that?

Apparently, it is.

I love T'Pol, though, and I suppose that makes it all worth it. But when I look at other couples—Trip and Natalie, for example—I can't help but wonder how different life would be if I had married a simple human woman. She wouldn't be T'Pol, but on the other hand, our marriage wouldn't have all the trappings that the one with T'Pol does, either.

And maybe my son and me would be able to have a conversation that could approach a normal one between father and son.

Maybe, if my son was human, he wouldn't be so ashamed of me being his father.

T'Pol claims that I'm over-reacting. She doesn't think Koval is ashamed of me. But the way he treats me is completely different from the way he treats his mother. Besides, Koval completely shuns most aspects of his humanity. If he wasn't ashamed of his human father, would he do that? Nope.

It kills me, too. Dad and I were so close. Is it asking too much to want the same relationship with Koval as I had with my father?

"Father?" I have been so wrapped up in my thoughts that I hadn't heard anyone knock. Nonetheless, the tone of Koval's voice leaves no doubt that he had knocked more than once.

"Hey, Kiddo," I greet. "I'm almost ready. Just give me a couple minutes and I'll be downstairs. Then we can all get ready to head over to Trip's."

Koval nods, but there is a pause in his demeanor. "Is there something else, Koval?"

"Yes, Father. I do not wish to attend the evening meal tonight," my son answers.

This is certainly unexpected. Usually, going to see Trip and Charlie is the highlight of Koval's week. Hoping to find a reason for this change in personality instead of having to chalk it up to another erratic Vulcan teenage mood swing, I ask, "Why not?"

"Does there need to be a particular reason?"

Defiant and stubborn. The child's inherited the worst of his mother's personality traits. "There needs to be a particular reason if you expect to be allowed to stay here when you were specifically invited to this dinner as much as we were."

Koval sighs and appears to process that information. "Very well," he concedes. "Recently, the atmosphere of the relationship between Charlie and myself has changed."

"Why?"

"There exists now an additional variable."

"Such as...?"

Koval does a most un-Vulcan squirm. Clearly, whatever's bugging him is something he sees as a human failure. Another reason to be ashamed of his heritage—and of me—no doubt.

"Koval, whatever it is, you can tell me. Believe it or not, I may actually be able to help. I was a teenager too, once."

"That was a sufficient amount of time ago."

"Well, yes it was. But even back in the dinosaur's day, we had 'variables.' Tell me what's wrong."

"Charlie and I have developed a mutual attraction for the same specimen."

"Are we talking about another person?"

"Yes."

"Is he or she—"

"She," Koval informs me. It is barely above a whisper, but it is there nonetheless.

I'm not going to mention any names, but the image of a certain Maggie Reed is very persistent. "Does she reciprocate? For either of you?"

"I believe she reciprocates my affection. However, Charlie has been reluctant to share his attraction."

I pause long enough to scratch my chin and wonder if the beard I decided to grow was a wise decision. "Well, Koval, there's simply no advice that I can give you. in this situation, you'll just have to measure which is more important to you: your friendship with Charlie or your relationship with Maggie." Oops. But Koval's lack of a response proves my initial guess to be correct.

"I desire both their presences in my life."

"Have you talked to Charlie about it?"

Koval shakes his head. "Talking was not required in order to spread tension amongst us."

"Well, maybe you should give it a shot."

"Did you and Trip discuss your mutual attraction towards mother?"

I can only stare at him in surprise. "What do you mean? What mutual attraction?"

Koval frequently resembles his mother much more than he does me. That annoying eyebrow lift only emphasizes his alienness. I can't prove it, but I'm pretty sure that's why he does it so often. "Foosil has related that he overheard Dr. Phlox tell Feezel that while the three of you served together, both you and Trip had a mutual attraction to mother."

"Foosil shouldn't ease drop on his parents' conversations."

"Is it not true?"

"Promise you won't tell any of this to Charlie?" At Koval's nod, I continue, "Well, I'll admit for a while that Trip definitely showed some attraction towards your mother."

"Were you affected by jealousy?"

"Nah. I might have been if I thought his feelings had been something stronger than sexual attraction."

The brows furrow together and if he didn't look so serious, I would take the opportunity to tell him just how human he looks. "Why should that variable have made a difference in your handling of the situation?"

"Well, because, to be blunt, Trip was only interested in T'Pol for the same reason he's interested in all women. All he wanted from her was the warmth of her touch, the thrill of a one or two night stand. He wasn't ever after anything serious."

"That does not sound much like the Trip I have had association with," Koval protests. I consider telling him the very fact that Charlie was conceived after such a one-night stand. Turns out I don't have to remind him.

"Charlie was conceived through such means," my son points out, "Yet I have always assumed that was due to Trip's overwhelming grief because of the Xindi attack."

Shrugging, I comment, "It was more common behavior than you might think back then. Why there was Ah'Len, Liana, some princess whose name I can never remember—"

"Trip maintains that he had sexual relations with the princess but not the other two," Koval again protests. I fight back the urge to sigh. Sometimes I forget how close Trip is to my son. I can't help but wonder if Koval would ever defend me in the same manner that he is defending Trip. Probably not.

"He was clearly drawn to them, Koval. Trust me, I was there. In any event, even if Trip had truly cared for T'Pol, there's no way your mother would have returned the sentiment. There were times when I thought for certain she was ready to kill him and vice versa. They're too different. Trip is very emotional; T'Pol strives for calm. Trip's ready to charge into things; T'Pol wants to think before she leaps."

The brows are still furrowed and I can tell he is lost deep in thought. I don't say anything to interrupt. After all, this is one of the longest conversations I've had with my son since he became a teenager. It's strange that it should be over something as silly as Trip's fleeting infatuation with my wife.

"You and mother are very different," Koval points out.

Well, that's true enough. "Yes. And I don't have to tell you how emotional I am. But Trip? Well, I love Trip like a brother, but sometimes he's a complete nutcase—and it's simply more than a Vulcan could handle."

"Trip has always been able to curb his emotions when he is in my presence," Koval points out. "In addition, I have never seen him and mother interact in such a manner as you describe their relationship to have been."

That's true, too. Since we've been married, Trip and T'Pol have been much more civil to each other. Of course, they talk a lot less too. Maybe their lack of communication has something to do with their decline in hostility.

"Koval, their relationship has changed. Getting older and getting married and settling down will affect someone that way. Trip's gotten more serious, but so has your mother."

"It is difficult to imagine a less serious version of mother."

Yes, it is. But I remember it. It's the same T'Pol that courted me, and seemed to have disappeared sometime after we were wed. I had contributed it to the pregnancy...but since it never came back, it seems I was wrong. "My point, Koval, is that Trip would always want a passion in all aspects of his life—including his marriage. There's no way he could have had that with your mother, even if his feelings for her had been serious, which they weren't."

"I see. Your relationship with mother is not passionate?" Ouch. Out of the mouth of babes. "Come on, kiddo, we have a dinner date."

Koval looks at me questionably for a moment, no doubt wondering why I didn't answer his question. Finally, he says, "Indeed. Perhaps afterwards, I shall initiate a conversation with Charlie after all. There appears to be much about human courtship and sexuality that refuses to follow logic."

He's got that one right. Logic and love don't mix at all.


	4. Benefits: Natalie's POV

_Later that evening..._

I desired Trip Tucker since the moment I first laid eyes upon him. Who wouldn't? He's an incredibly sexy man, incredibly loyal, and extremely dedicated. I wanted to be the focus of all three of those attributes.

For a while, I was. As my relationship with Trip progressed, I discovered life with him to be even more wonderful than I could ever have imagined. I grew ever more certain I wanted to be "Mrs. Tucker." Again, who wouldn't? I'd have a faithful and loving husband, who was as handsome and well mannered in public while still maintaining a wildly passionate sex life. The only stumbling block seemed to be the fact that Trip so obviously wanted at least one child to carry on the Tucker name. I never really saw the use for children. Mostly, they tend to hold women back.

Maybe that's why he left the first time.

I was absolutely livid when Trip told me he had been assigned to Enterprise. My mother has often wondered why I wasn't more supportive. Even my dear friend Diana has chastised me for not being more sympathetic. But honestly, how else should I have responded? Part of the attraction to becoming "Mrs. Tucker" lay in the fact that Trip would no doubt make an excellent social match. The envious stares of the other socialites only added to what I knew were a list of wonderful reasons Trip would make a good husband for me.

How was he supposed to accompany me to my business functions when he was going to go play around on a ship for God knows how long?

It was completely unnecessary. There was simply no reason that Trip couldn't be a Starfleet engineer and remain on Earth. He didn't agree and chose to leave anyway. Regardless of what _I_ wanted or how it would affect _us._

So I dumped him.

I admit now that I had hopes at the time that it would bring him back. When it didn't, I gave up hope of becoming "Mrs. Tucker."

I dated a string of men—all very successful, very handsome, and gentlemanly enough to fit into my business lifestyle. None of them quite lived up to Trip's qualities. It's funny how sometimes you don't realize how good someone is for you until you can't have them anymore.

Then came the Xindi attack.

While in the end, I profited extremely from my actions during the attack, my motives were entirely pure. When I heard what section of Florida had been hit, I knew Trip would be hurt. I knew he'd need comfort. So I went looking for him as soon as Enterprise entered orbit. I found him, alongside then-Lieutenant Reed, attempting to drown his sorrows in an old rundown bar that used to be one of Trip's favorites. "It has flavor, Nat," he was found of telling me.

That night, I'm fairly certain he didn't see any "flavor" to the place.

It took some doing to wrench him from the watchful eye of Reed. To this day, I'm relatively certain that the man dislikes me. Considering how often he and my husband keep in touch, I get pretty frequent reminders.

Between us, Trip and I finally convinced the lieutenant to leave us be. When we were alone, I encouraged Trip to confine in me, just as I knew he would need to do.

* * *

"It's gone, Nat. All of it. The house, the land...gone."

"I know, Trip. I've been there." "Lizzy wasn't old enough to go, Nat. She was barely done with her degree."

"I remember going to her graduation."

"She was so happy then. Hell, she was happy most of the time. She just loved livin'. And now she can't anymore, 'cause some damn aliens decided to attack us for no good reason."

"I wish there was something I could say or do, Trip."

"Just don't leave, Nat. I don't want to be alone."

* * *

I stayed with him throughout the night and made certain he wasn't alone. The next day, he left for Enterprise.

Nine months later, Charles Tucker IV was born. I gave him his father's name because I knew that Trip wanted to continue the tradition. Mother thought it to be a bit presumptuous. "What if he finds someone before you see him again, Natalie?" she had questioned.

At the time, I thought her suggestion was ridiculous.

I felt extremely validated when Trip asked me to marry him right away. I agreed and we were married two months later. I was finally Mrs. Tucker. Trip accompanied me to dinner parties, took a steady job at Starfleet, and agreed to be Charlie's primary caregiver. I had the life I always dreamed of.

It took me a while to get accustomed to his change in demeanor. The Trip I remembered had always been so carefree and fun. For a long time after the Enterprise returned, Trip was only fun when he was around Charlie or Koval. He was still Trip, but a far more serious version of Trip.

In truth, had I known how different he was, I'm not sure I would have married him at all. But I made a vow, and I aimed to keep it. Happily, after several months of therapy, some of the old Trip began to seep through. These days, he's nearly one hundred percent his old self.

The reasons for the change can be attributed to a variety of factors, I suppose. A lot probably happened during the Xindi conflict that's classified. Even the events that Trip could talk about in his book were enough to make any sane person go crazy. Dealing with that, along with getting readjusted to living on Earth had to be difficult.

Then, of course, there's Ambassador T'Pol.

At first, I had no indication of Trip's relationship with T'Pol. Hell, why would I have? She's married to a man that Trip used to call his best friend (although they're still close, I believe Commodore Reed has taken Jon's place as closest confidante.) And she's a Vulcan, for God's sake. When he left, Trip held more against the Vulcans than anyone except Jonathan Archer.

My, how things change.

To his credit, my husband has never once called out anyone's name but my own. He's very much in control of himself when we make love. I suppose that has to do with how focused he is on attending to my pleasure. There hasn't been one night that has passed where I haven't felt the joy of sexual climax with my husband.

But he loses that control when he sleeps. While he sleeps, his unconscious expresses things it never could during his waking hours.

The first time her name escaped his lips, I questioned him about it. He assured me that it was only because of the experience in the Romulan prison. I believed him, until the next time it happened. The second time, I paid closer attention to the manner in which he called her name. It definitely wasn't one of pain or fear.

It was one of want.

Charles Tucker III, who had left Earth hating Vulcans, was calling out for one.

I never once contemplated that Trip had been unfaithful. That's not the kind of man Trip Tucker is. Instead, I chalked it up to unrequited love.

There are those in my situation who might have left. I briefly considered it, then just as quickly rejected the idea. I love Trip. I love our life together. I'm happy and Charlie is happy. Trip is a good husband. Is a bit of pride worth sacrificing a life and husband I love?

I don't think it is.

Besides, the Vulcan is married to the Admiral, after all. As much as Trip may desire her, he'll never be able to have her.

My staying isn't entirely selfish, then, is it? If I left Trip, he'd be alone.

Besides, the Vulcan can't love him the way I do. How can a species as cold and unemotional as hers know anything about what it's like to love?

* * *

The object of my husband's longing is standing beside me, helping wash the dishes from our dinner party. If I were an Ambassador of her importance, you can bet I'd never wash a single dish. But she insists on helping, and so I agree. Our husbands meanwhile have retired to the work room, where Trip is proudly showing Archer designs for the new warp six model. Our children have also disappeared together.

T'Pol and I work in veritable silence. There is, after all, very little for us to discuss. We have little in common; that which we do share we can never discuss.

The silence is broken by the sound of our children's voices. They have wondered outside in the yard in front of the kitchen window. Apparently forgetting that we would need to clean, their conversation continues in earnest. Well, they are teenagers, after all.

"So, what'd ya want ta talk about, Koval?" my son inquires.

"I wished to discuss the subject of Maggie Reed with you," Koval responds.

"I don't want to talk about her."

"I feel we must."

"Why?" "You desire her, as I do I."

"Yeah, thanks for rubbin' that in, Koval. Ya didn't exactly have ta tell me. I pretty much figured that out on my own."

"It is imperative that we discuss it. While we both desire her, we are also friends. I...cherish that relationship with you, Charlie."

I sneak a glance at T'Pol, expecting her to chastise me for ease dropping. Instead, I find her looking more green than normal and discover that she is listening even more intently than I am. While she listens, she has a far away look on her face. It's one I recognize almost immediately. It's identical to the one that Trip sometimes gets—one that says he's thinking about something that he'd rather not be.

The exact same look.

How interesting...

"I 'preciate ya too, Koval."

"What is the magnitude of your feeling for Maggie?"

"Well, she's cute and fun and really smart. I...I like her a lot, Koval. But you prob'ly like her more than me."

"You have no basis for that opinion."

"You've been awfully close to her, lately."

There is a lull in the conversation until Koval finally decides to speak again. "I confided in my father this afternoon."

"The Admiral? Really?"

"Yes. He was very helpful."

"What did he say?"

"He gave me...somewhat contradictory advice that convinced me human sexuality and love is beyond my understanding."

The Vulcan jerks out of her trance and walks quickly out the kitchen door. I had no idea Vulcans could move so fast. In mere seconds, she is standing in front of the boys.

"Mother."

"Ambassador T'Pol."

"Charlie. Koval. I could not help but over hear your conversation."

Well, she could've, if she hadn't been ease dropping.

"Oh."

"Um."

"I have no doubt that your father was not helpful in such a situation, Koval. However, I shall give you advice which you may find much more so. If you truly are attracted to Miss Reed, you will allow the decision to be hers."

"Of course, mother—"

"That would require you to cease talking about her as though she is a trophy to be obtained. If you continue on your current path, all three of you may find yourselves in decidedly unpleasant circumstances in the future."

The implication of what she is saying is overwhelming. Well, I guess I was wrong. My husband's feelings aren't quite "unrequited" as they are...what? Unpermitted?

I wonder if the Admiral has any idea.

I doubt it.

Poor Trip. Poor T'Pol. I wonder which one of them realized their affections first? And which one of the poor creatures left realized what their duty to Archer would require them to do instead.

"That would be most logical," Koval agrees outside.

"Makes sense," Charlie adds.

Yes, it would, I suppose. It's rather unfortunate for T'Pol and Trip that the boys' fathers didn't employ the same logic.

But I'm glad they didn't. Because Trip and T'Pol's misery is the reason for my happiness.


	5. Father's Footsteps: Koval's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole nonsense about Vulcans/honor/lineage is NOT me confusing Vulcans with Klingons. :) The idea of honor being important to Vulcans was presented novels along the way (as well as Amok Time, really) and an internet discussion board recently wondered why the heck everyone in Spocks family is a friggin Ambassador. The suggestion of filial piety was tossed about, and I grabbed it. Is it logical? Nope. Is killing for your mate? Nope. Should Vulcans mate with Klingons? Yep.

  
Author's notes: The whole nonsense about Vulcans/honor/lineage is NOT me confusing Vulcans with Klingons. :) The idea of honor being important to Vulcans was presented novels along the way (as well as Amok Time, really) and an internet discussion board recently wondered why the heck everyone in Spockâ€™s family is a frigginâ€™ Ambassador. The suggestion of filial piety was tossed about, and I grabbed it. Is it logical? Nope. Is killing for your mate? Nope. Should Vulcans mate with Klingons? Yep.  
  
Yes, perhaps Iâ€™m a bit harsh to Archer in this chappy. But I have used this chapter to explain why IMO, Archer could never be married to a Vulcan (or father half of one.) Which is why Iâ€™m not an A/Tâ€™Per :) Archer has momentary insights of greatness, but when it comes to Vulcans, he remains a petulant child (see The Expanse.)  


* * *

_Three years later..._

"So, whatcha gonna do, Koval?" Charlie Tucker inquires from over the view screen.

"I am uncertain, Charlie," I admit.

"Well, ya gotta decide sometime," Charlie points out unnecessarily. "And it better be soon. Neither Starfleet nor The Vulcan Science Academy are gonna wait forever. Ya snooze, ya loose."

"Haste makes waste," I answer effortlessly. Such human clichs come easily to me, given my own human father's propensity for such terminology.

Charlie laughs. Given my current predicament, I am not pleased with his ability to find humor in the situation. I am not incapable of understanding humor, I simply do not see its application in the situation. I tell him as much. He feigns somberness. His true feelings are revealed, however, by the generous amount of humor to read within his brown eyes. Humans are very easy to read. I inform him of that as well. For reasons I am unable to discern, this only serves to make him again loose control of himself. I am in no mood to be mocked.

"Now, Koval, I'm just teasin'. There's no need to scowl at me," Charlie retorts. He leans back in his chair, balancing unwisely on two legs. I cannot help but be struck by the joy that would occur permeate my system if the chair were to lose balance. Although, joy is an emotion. "I am not scowling, Charlie. Scowling is a human affliction," I remind him.

Again, he finds humor in my statement. "Must be that bad blood of yours sneakin' up on ya again," he concedes, referring to my human heritage, of course.

"It is possible. It does seem to be the source of most of my problems of late," I answer, thinking of course of my father.

Charlie understands and he nods. "What's the Ambassador have to say about it?" he asks, in reference to my mother. It has become a tradition of sorts between us to refer to our parents by their proper titles-The Ambassador, The Admiral, The Commodore and The Civilian. No disrespect is meant towards them, although they sometimes do not always see our intentions as benign.

I allow my eyebrows to furrow together-no doubt an action deemed to be a "frown" by my friend. "I have, of course, sought my mother's advice. She has been unusually reticent. Her answer has consistently been 'You must chose your own path and be willing to accept the consequences of your actions.' As I am already aware of this, it has not been even marginally helpful."

"Well, she's right, ya know," My friend offers.

"As I have already stated, Charlie, I am aware of that fact. I am also aware of the potential ramifications of each action. If I elect to attend Starfleet Academy, I shall continue a heritage set in motion two generations before my birth and cause my father considerable pleasure."

"And you'll be miserable, right?" Charlie prods. My look is enough to make him reconsider his words. "Yeah, I know, that's probably an emotion too. What I meant was...you will be considerably unpleased, right?"

I nod. "Unquestionably, if I were to chose based solely on my preferences, I would chose to attend the Vulcan Science Academy to study architecture."

"So, there ya go. There's your answer," Charlie responds.

I shake my head. "But if that is my choice, I shall no doubt cause my father to be sufficiently...miserable."

Charlie runs his hands through his hair in a tell tale sign of frustration. True to the nature of his name, his hair closely resembles that of his father. I have often commented upon the irony of the fact that I do not resemble my father either physically or psychologically. Charlie, on the other hand, has his father's hair and his mother's eyes. I have my mother's hair and eyes of my mother's people as well. I remember a discussion with Charlie about such a thing.

* * *

"Koval, this genetic stuff is beyond my understandin'. And I think it's a bunch of nonsense."

"Why?"

"Well, look at you. According to theory, you'd need two recessive traits to get together somehow to get blue eyes, right? But your dad's got green eyes and your mom's a Vulcan."

"You are presuming Vulcans do not have the capability to produce blue eyed children?"

"Well, yeah."

"You are incorrect. The great Surak himself had blue eyes. __"

"No shit?"

"Yes. Blue eyes are an extremely rare occurrence on Vulcan. However, my grandmother does possess them. There are no green eyed Vulcans, however. It is likely that my father's recessive trait combined with my mother's recessive trait to produce my eyes."

* * *

While I am pleased to share the same eye color as Surak, I would be more pleased to more closely resemble both my parents.

Currently, Charlie's brown eyes are filled with quite human anger. "Koval, you gotta do what makes you happy. Quit worryin' so much about that insufferable ass that is your father."

"Charlieâ€”"

"No, Koval, I mean it. I know he's your Dad, but damnit, if he loved you nearly a shred of the way a parent is supposed to love a child, he wouldn't want you to change who you are all the time."

"My father maintains that I am not being true to who I am by choosing the Vulcan lifestyle over the human."

"And who the hell is he to know your true self?"

"He is my father," I offer simply. I should offer a defense for the man who helped give me life. Yet everything my friend says is true. "You cannot expect all relationships between children and their parents to be similar to that of your relationship with Trip."

Sighing, Charlie asks, "Does your mother act the same way?"

"No." That much is true. Mother has never tried to influence my struggle with my dual heritage. For that, I am truly grateful. It is only logical that I should be more...comfortable in her presence than with my father?

"Well, there you have it. It has nothin' to do with Dad or me. It has everything to do with the Admiral. You'd think the man could get over his dislike of Vulcans long enough toâ€”" Charlie stops, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. I, of all people, can recognize when someone is trying to withhold their passions. "I'm sorry. We were just readin' about him today, and well, it's a miracle they still let him on the Starfleet lot, as far as I'm concerned."

"He is an Admiral," I point out. "It would be difficult for them to deny him access to the lot."

"KOVAL!" My friend exclaims in mock anger. I arch an eyebrow in response and his pretense is lost as he begins to laugh. This time, I do not find agitation accompanying his laughter. "Listen, I've got a tactical engineering final to study for, Koval. Admiral Reed is teaching it, and you know what a hard ass he can be."

"It has come to my attention during my courtship of Maggie," I answer.

There is no hostility or regret in my friend's voice as he replies and I find myself grateful that three years ago Charlie and I took my mother's advice. "Yeah, you and Maggie should come visit me and Katie this weekend."

"I shall propose it to Maggie. I greatly look forward to meeting Miss Pike."

"She'll love ya, Koval. See ya later, sa-kai," he says, using the Vulcan term for brother.

"Good bye, t'hy'la," I reply, using the Vulcan term for one who is like a brother. It can have other meanings as well, but those do not apply to Charlie.

It is, of course, illogical to call my friend by a familial term when we share no blood relationship. Regardless, we have had such a ritual since he was twelve and I was nine. He insisted we become "blood brothers." The incident was startlingly reminiscent of a ritual Vulcan soldiers used to perform in the pre-Reform period. Upon hearing that, Charlie insisted we go by the term sa-kai, while I insisted upon t'hy'la.

Illogical. But it is not a ritual I am willing to give up.

Ironically, as I contemplate illogic, I hear my father's voice. It is an indication he and mother have returned from assisting Dr. Phlox. I exit my room, prepared to tell them of my dual acceptance. Then, perhaps I shall tell only my mother. My father can be told once I reach my final decision.

I do try to keep his disappointment in me at a minimum.

As I start to descend down the stairs, my parent's conversation becomes clearer. In an effort to allow them time to end it, I find myself eaves-dropping instead. "That was some condition T'Zal had, T'Pol. Is it common?"

My mother pauses before answering. "Pon far normally occurs every seven years of an adult Vulcan's life."

"How come you've never experienced it?" my father asks. He is mistaken, of course. I wait for mother to correct him. To my shock, she does not.

"You and I are frequently sexually active. Vulcans are driven to pon far only because of their repressed sexual urges. As you and I engage in intercourse so frequently, it is only logical that I would not experience the condition."

But she had to have at least once. Vulcan females must undergo pon far in order to conceive.

"Well, maybe we should have sex less frequently," my father snaps. His outburst is unexpected and makes little sense. Why would he desire less sexual intimacy from my mother?

Nothing about this conversation is following logic.

"If you no longer desire me, Jonathan, then you are not obligated to share my bed," my mother responds. My human half is refusing to be maintained as I battle the urge to run to my mother's defense. They have been married for nineteen years. Can my father not tell by now when he is causing my mother discomfort?

"Damnit, T'Pol, of course I desire you! But just once, it would be nice to know you desire me too."

"I do not understand what you believe to be lacking, Jonathan. I have been your companion sexually, legally, and publicly. What else can I give that you believe I have not given?"

"Passion, T'Pol. I want to know you crave me the way I crave you. The way you used to before we got married. If I had known..." My father trails off, but the unspoken end of his sentence fills me with resentment. He shows great disrespect towards my mother by speaking towards her in that fashion. I have known that my mother and father do not have as an affectionate marriage as is the norm for either Vulcans nor humans. Yet, my father acts as though he is the only one unhappy.

Does he not realize my mother is also discontent with the marriage as well? That she has not been able to find the affection with my father that even Vulcans who are in arranged marriages typically share?

"If I give you that little pleasure, Jonathan, then you are free to pursue other females to satisfy your carnal urges," Mother retorts. Her voice has elevated somewhat.

"God, T'Pol, do you think that little of me?" My father shouts.

If she does, it is only because you have given her reason to, I long to tell him.

"I've got to go. I'll be back laterâ€”I'm going to Trip's house. I don't expect him to understand my problem, as his wife actually gives a damn about him, but I'm going anyway."

"You will not speak of us to him!"

My mother has never shouted before this instance. Only my human father could anger my mother to the point where she loses control.

When my father speaks again, his voice is low and quiet. "What I speak with to Trip is none of your business, T'Pol." I can see him turn to leave. He pauses on his way out, never turning to look at my mother as he tells her, "Just once I wish you'd experienced pon far, T'Pol. I would have liked to have felt you as passionate as T'Zal was tonight."

Why does he keep insisting that he has never experienced pon far with my mother? He had to have. I exist.

"I regret not giving you that experience," Mother says softly. Her emotional control has left her, as it is now threatening to do to me.

She regrets not giving him that experience?

Then what my father claims is true. Unwillingly, a memory from four years ago thrusts its way into my memory.

* * *

"The...bonding...sounds very complicated, Mother."

"It is a complex ritual, Koval."

"How does it affect you? Does it cause pain? What is it like to constantly have access to someone else's thoughts?"

"I do not know, my son."

"Why not?"

"I am not bonded to your father. An event occurred before our ceremony which prevented our bonding."

"Does father know?"

"No. If he knew, he would experience sufficient emotional pain."

* * *

"Koval?" The voice of my mother brings me out of my reverie.

"Admiral Archer is not my biological father." It is not a question. It does not need to be.

My mother closes her eyes, and I realize I have caused her pain. Emotional pain, even. I find I cannot express remorse for that action at the present. She has lied to me for eighteen years. For the first time in my life, I am angry at my mother.

"No, Koval, he is not."

"Is my father human?"

"Yes."

"Is he the reason you are not bonded to Admiral Archer?"

"Yes."

Fighting for control, I grasp the hand rail beside me. Squeezing it for support, I force myself to ask, "Are you bonded to another?"

"No, I am not bonded to the man that fathered you," Mother answers. "I am bonded to no one."

Again I squeeze the railing in an effort to gain control. The weakâ€”weak as the human that made it, weak as the diluted Vulcan blood in my veinsâ€”material cracks under my pressure and the ensuing snap gratifies me immensely. It does not pacify my anger nor does it contain my confusion.

Anger and confusion. Such human terms.

And now, I do not even know who to blame for them.

"If you are not bonded to the man who helped create me, then why do I exist? Why am I his son and not the Admiral's?" There is no logic in the amount of difficulty I have in forming that question.

My mother again closes her eyes. They stay shut longer this time. When she opens them, she turns her back on me and walks to the window. Her gaze remains firmly locked on some unknown object in the horizon as she answers me. "You were the result of my first pon far. Jonathan and I were separated and we had not yet been bonded. Your biological father recognized the symptoms and would not permit me to die."

"You said my father was human. How did he know about pon far if he was human?"

"He kept in contact with a Vulcan friend who did not have problems telling much about our people."

My human side again takes precedence as a feeling of dread overwhelms my essence. Another memory, equally unwelcome as the first, makes its way into my consciousness.

* * *

"You and Maggie'll be great together, Koval. You're both smart and she's one of the few human girls I know who would be tough enough to withstand that pon far thing."

"Pon far is a sacred secret amongst our people. How do you know about it?"

"Oh, my dad is real good friends with this rebel Vulcan named Kov. He doesn't have a whole lot of respect for Vulcan culture. Anyway, his son's more of a rebel than he is. Never thought I'd ever see a Vulcan on a motorcycle, but it's funny as hell."

"I assume then this son of Kov told you about our traditions?"

"Yep."

* * *

Kov. Koval.

Vulcans frequently name their children after important figures in their life. Would not the man that told my father about pon far count as an integral figure?

No! It cannot be.

Mother and Trip were held prisoner together by the Romulans. She was separated from father. Ten months before I was born.

No!

His eyes are blue. As are mine.

My inner self cannot argue with the logic. "Trip is myâ€”" Illogically, I cannot finish the sentence. Oh, logic be damned! It has no welcome presence in the midst of these revelations. Finding my throat unable to form the words, I ask instead, "Trip saved your life?"

My mother remains fascinated with the object outside. When she answers me, finally, it is barely above a whisper. "Yes."

The legs beneath me threaten to leave even as logic has. Today I have lost not only the man I have believed to have been my father, but the man I have loved as a second father as well. "The Admiral does not know of the truth. Does Commodore Tucker?"

Will I ever be able to call him Trip again? Will I ever be able to call him anything at all without feeling such an all consuming pain?

"I do not know. I have never asked him," Mother replies.

"You never asked him? Did you not think it important?" For the first time, I have raised my voice. I have never done so with my mother and perhaps later I shall experience remorse.

But she has caused me far greater pain tonight with her revelations.

"By the time I knew of your conception, Jonathan and I were married. Revealing the truth would have had dire consequences for you. I knew you would already face considerable hardship, as your father was human. I did not wish to make the situation more difficult for you."

There is little else to be said to my mother at this point. My emotions are threatening to overwhelm me, and mother is struggling as well. We both require meditation. I retreat to my room to do so.

* * *

I cannot meditate.

The emotions that I have struggled to control for eighteen years threaten to overwhelm me. The irony ceases to end tonight. The only part of my true father that I have in my possession is the one part of him that I do not wantâ€”his emotions.

In my lap sits an old copy of Warp Five and Beyond, Trip's autobiography. It is a paper copy. I found considerable illogic in the giving of such a gift. Trip had commented at the time that his first copy of Cochrane's autobiography that his parents gave him had been in paperback and that he still had it.

Was such a revelation a hint?

Were all the times that he insisted I go fishing with him and Charlie an indication he knew of my parentage?

Opening the worn cover, I examine the dedication I have memorized. To Charlie and Koval, who seek to seek out and explore together on a daily basis. You keep me young.

The evidence again is overwhelming.

He knows.

Yet he remains silent.

In frustration, I hurl the book across the room. Undoubtedly emotional. Other than his eye color, it is my father's only parental bequest to me. Momentarily, I allow myself to reveal in them.

I have been betrayed by those I hold dearest. Do I not have the right to feel angry? Admiral Archer has always pressured me when he has no right to do so. Mother has known, all this time, but refused to tell me until now. And Trip has known as well, yet is content to allow another man to father his child.

My mother's understanding was logical. She knows Vulcan society. She thought of me and my well-being. What excuse did my father have? Why did he not go to her and demand to be part of my life? I know from reading Warp Five and Beyond that the crew of the Enterprise knew about my potential existence three months before we arrived back to Earth. Three months before Trip knew about Charlie. It is therefore not Charlie's existence that kept Trip from demanding his right.

One of the chapters in his book is titled "Some Things Are Worth Fighting For." It details the Romulan War.

Why was I not worth fighting for?

My father is a very intelligent man. I cannot believe it took him a prolonged period of time to know I was his son. If Kov told him about pon far, would he not have told him its purpose?

Was my father's friendship with Admiral Archer so much more important than being my father?

* * *

An hour has passed. Meditation still has not arrived when I hear my mother's knock.

"Enter."

My mother has clearly meditated and I find myself envying her ability to do so. Perhaps I shall be as proficient due to the thinness of my Vulcan blood.

She sits on chair beside my bed, as she did many nights when I was a child. "Koval," she greets. Her gaze falls upon the book lying haphazardly at her feet. Mother arches an eyebrow, but does not question how it arrived there.

"He knows," I said simply. Glancing up, I see a sympathetic look cross my mother's face. She does not question the truth of my statement. Her silence compels me to ask another question. "Why did you not tell the Admiral of the pon far before you married him?"

"Commander Tucker asked me not to," she answers. I note that she refers to Trip by his past rank, as though I have triggered a time portal to a time long ago. "He believed it would cause the Captain undue emotional stress."

"You agreed with him?"

"Koval, I am a Vulcan. Although I have lived amongst humans for such a long time, I do not fully grasp the extent of all of their emotions. Commander Tucker is a human. He knows his own kind's emotional variances better than I do. I did not wish to cause either Jonathan or him pain."

"I understand that, Mother. I would not wish to harm Maggie's emotional state purposely, either." Suddenly the memory of my mother's advice makes itself present. "You had great affection for Trip, Mother?"

My mother clasps her hands in front of her before responding. I have caused her a great deal of distress tonight. Guilt begins to make itself known. If I am correct in my theory, my mother has known nearly two decades of distress. I do not seek to cause her more. "Yes, Koval."

When she says it, I am reminded of what she said an hour earlier. "I am bonded to no one." Sympathy for her and anger towards Trip permeates my being. My mother, by being without a bondmate, is as alone as any Vulcan can be. As long as she is married to the Admiral, Trip's dear friend, she is destined to be alone.

"I apologize for my lack of control earlier, Mother," I offer, by way of showing my remorse.

She shakes her head. "An apology is not necessary, Koval. You responded as anyone in your position has a right to. I believe even Surak would say that your cause for anger was sufficient."

"Surak would also understand your reasoning. I do as well, Mother. I do not find fault with your reasoning."

Mother takes a deep breath and again squeezes her fingers together. "Before you absolve me of any wrong doing, you deserve to know one other crucial fact."

Another revelation? When will they cease? Is no part of my life not a lie?

"When I discovered you had been conceived, I was exceedingly pleased," Mother tells me. Irrationally, this fills me with joy. Yes, human, emotional joy. Tomorrow I must gain better control of myself. When there are no more revelations to be had.

"I am equally pleased that I was born to you," I respond.

But she is shaking her head. "I was not pleased merely because I desired a child. I was pleased because of your parentage. Had circumstances been different, I would have been...elated."

Neither of us mention that elated is a human term. Tonight is a night of many firsts for my mother. She has shouted and used a blatantly human emotional term. Her Vulcan blood is not as thin as mine. I do not feel as bad for my lack of control. Which is fortunate because I feel great pain for my mother.

"My position has not changed with that information, Mother. In fact, I am pleased you shared passion for my father and that I was not simply the unfortunate result of Vulcan evolution," I respond.

"I am relieved," she replies, rising. "I must fix dinner. Is there anything you desire?"

"On this night, I would find great comfort in Plomeek soup. Although, perhaps for dessert, we can have Terrean peaches?"

But never pecan pie.

Never again.

Strangely, my mother blinks in a manner that lets me know I have disturbed her by my request for peaches. But she says nothing and merely nods. "Dinner shall be ready in thirty five minutes."

She exits and I am left alone.

The anger I had towards my mother has left. She behaved only as any Vulcan wouldâ€”logically. Unselfishly logical. Admiral Archer may have been wronged, but my mother has sacrificed her own contentment for my well being and Trip's...happiness. She paid the ultimate price for us and has not complained once.

Admiral Archer does little but complain. He has grown increasingly bitter in his advanced age.

I am uncertain how to feel about the Admiral. He has been the man I have called father for eighteen years. Much of our time together has been turbulent and from my view, contradictory. He claims to love me "unconditionally," yet wants to coerce me into accepting ideologies and viewpoints I cannot appreciate.

I appreciate human culture. I simply desire to live as a Vulcan.

Why does the Admiral seek to steal that right from me as my father?

And yet, although he has caused me sufficient distress over the years by refusing to accept my path, I have considered him my father and cared for him in the same fashion that I have cared for my mother.

As I have given in to human emotion tonight, I will allow myself to be honest.

I love Admiral Archer.

I love Mother.

Worst of all, I love Trip.

The Admiral took me to water polo matches, bandaged wounded limbs, took care of me while I was sick, and told me stories while tucking me in at night.

Trip took me fishing and baseball games, helped me construct my first model starship engine, and listened faithfully to my concerns without casting judgment.

Can I love both the Admiral and Trip?

It is useless to ask myself such a question. The turbulent relationship between myself and the Admiral has not changed the strength of my love for him. Neither shall the fact that Trip willingly chose not to claim me as his son change the intensity of my love for him.

I wish what they said about Vulcans was trueâ€”that we were not capable of feeling emotions. I could do without love.

I attempt to ascertain which love is stronger, and I cannot. The love I have for the Admiral is entirely different from that which I hold for Trip. My affection for the Admiral is one for someone who loves me despite continual disappointment. My affection for Trip is the love of someone who knows me well and has no desire to change me.

But then, why should he concern himself with my personality when he did not find me worth fighting for?

The incessant beeping of the vid phone interrupts my musing. Rising to answer it, I am astonished to discover the face of Trip on the other line. He wears the very human expression of concern. I wonder if he wore the same one when he discovered my conception had taken place.

"Koval, thank God!" he exclaims when I answer. "What's goin' on? Is everything okay over there?"

"My mother and I are fine, Commodore."

His face changes to a confused expression. "Ya sure? I just got home and Nat says the Admiral was over here about twenty minutes ago and that he looked awful upset."

"He and mother had a disagreement."

Yet again his expression changes. It is one that expresses anxiousness. "Is your momma okay?" he asks softly.

How intriguing. His first thought is not of his friend, but of my mother.

Is it possible that my mother's affection was not...unreciprocated? Or perhaps it is guilt for what he has done in the past? I decide to prod the Commodore to discover if my mother is as alone as she believes. "He hurt her," I tell him.

Again the face changes. This time it is one of rage. "WHAT? Is she alright?" His anger is nearly tangible. I believe, for the first time, that if the Admiral were within distance, Trip would strike him.

Has he always felt this way? Why have neither I nor the Admiral caught on? "She is physically unharmed. He simply caused her great...distress."

How is it possible that one man can have so many facial expressions? For the first time, I take careful notice of the amount of wrinkles on his skin. "But she's okay?"

My mother's affection was not unreturned. For some reason, that does not bring me pleasure. If they both desired one another, why did my mother spend her life with someone she does not have affection for, and who does not respect her?

"She is preparing dinner. She shall recover."

He shakes his head. "I always thought he loved her so much...If I had known..."

The propensity to not finish his sentences is typically annoying, and tonight even more so. Did he not finish those sentences nineteen years ago? Is that why my mother is forced to live without a bondmate?

And I am forced to live with a father that is not truly my father? Who I disappoint further with each passing day?

"Koval?" the man on screen questions. "Are you okay? You look kinda green."

"I am fine," I tell him.

"Ya sure?"

"Yes."

"I saw Charlie at the Academy today and he tells me you've been accepted to both the Academy and the VSA."

"That is correct."

"Have ya made any decisions yet?"

Even if I had, my decisions have been irrevocably complicated by the amount of revelations tonight. "No. My reasons are complicated."

"I'm sure they are, Koval. Look, kiddo, way back when your momma was still carryin' you, a good Vulcan friend of mine told me how important lineage is to Vulcans."

"Indeed?" If he stressed the importance of lineage, why did you not want me?

"Yep. He said that the relationship between the father and the son are very important in Vulcan society and that...under no circumstances would any self respectin' Vulcan father do anything to embarrass a Vulcan son."

Is that why you did not fight for me? You did not seek to embarrass me? Reasons startlingly close to what my mother conveyed only moments before?

"That is true," I admit.

"I'm sure you're probably tryin' to figure out how the lineage thing will work with what you want to do, and I wish I could help ya out, Koval, but the only advice I can give ya is that ya have to do what ya can live with at the end of the day."

"May I ask another question of you, Trip?"

"Sure, Koval, ya can ask me anything ya want, as long as you promise not to call me 'Commodore.'"

"Is there any circumstance for which a human would willingly give away someone very precious to them? Someone they love?"

Tripâ€”my fatherâ€”looks startled for a moment. Then he frowns and stares down at his hands on his desk. "Yeah, Koval, there are two reasons I can think of. They might do it if they think holdin' on to 'em might hurt them or someone else they love. They might do that if they think they're doin' the right thingâ€”if they think the other person might be better off without 'em." My father's accent has grown thicker. Having known him for my entire life, I recognize that as a sign that he is becoming more emotional.

I am in danger of doing so as well. My father sacrificed a relationship with my mother to prevent causing Admiral Archer distress. He sacrificed a paternal relationship with me to prevent causing me pain. "Well, Trip, I must go. I am certain the Admiral will be there again soon and I must accompany my mother for dinner. I am the only companion she has."

My father glances up at that, and I notice that his eyes are dangerously damp. "Take care of her, Koval. And Kovalâ€”the Admiral may not always show it, but he does love you. I know it's not worth as much, but I love ya too. As much as I love Charlie."

Conflicting emotions of pain and happiness battle for supremacy. "I am aware of that fact, Trip. I have great affection for you as well." . . as much as I have for the Admiral.

I expect him to smile, but instead his eyes only look wetter. Sniffling, he bids me goodbye and quickly disconnects.

I long to reconnect and tell him what I know.

But I cannot. My father and my mother both sacrificed their own happiness in order to permit me to fulfill my Vulcan obligations to my lineage.

Even before my birth, my father was more respectful of my Vulcan heritage than the Admiral would later prove to be. He showed the true affection that a parent would have for a child. But oh, he proved he was a foolish human if he believed I would be better off without him. As for his relationship with mother, I am relieved to know that her affection was reciprocated. She is not as alone as I believed previously, as her pain is shared by another. In many respects, the pains, concerns and actions of my parents have been so similar that they might as well be bonded.

But they are not. For their happiness was sacrificed twice. Once for Admiral Archer, and once for me. To tell them that their sacrifices had been in vain would be inordinately cruel. I would not do that to either of them. I will not permit the suffering they have undergone to be without result.

I will honor their sacrifices with my silence.

I will do honor to the lineage in true Vulcan style by following in my father's footsteps.

That requires me to join Starfleet, and disregard my own desire to attend the Vulcan Science Academy. Given the enormity of my parent's pain, I cannot complain.

But I shall enter as an engineer, not a pilot.


	6. Outside Looking In: Phlox's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theres been a slight change of plans. Charlies POV will come later.

  
Author's notes: Thereâ€™s been a slight change of plans. Charlieâ€™s POV will come later.  
  
Pookha, I credit you with the "love, honor, and duty" line. Because, frankly, your review summed up the entire point of this fic. :) As for the rest of my reviewers- you won. Thereâ€™ll be more parts.   


* * *

_A week later..._

Tonight my patient sleeps for the first time in a week. It is a turbulent sleep, however, as T'Zal's body is still recovering. Vulcan bodies may be resilient, but the toil of pon far threatens even their enormous strength. But she'll recover, thanks to the help of the Ambassador and Admiral, whose ranks secured a quicker transport for her mate, veritably saving her life.

I'd really rather not reflect on that incident. I consider both the Admiral and the Ambassador my friends. To see them both in such obvious states of unhappiness is extremely painful to me.

I cannot shake the feeling that if Denobulans slept nightly as Vulcans and Humans do, I would be sharing the same uneasy slumber that T'Zal demonstrates tonight. For I cannot help but wonder how much of a role I might have played in my friends' discomfort. Not only that of the Ambassador and the Admiral, but of Commodore Tucker as well, whom I also consider a dear friend.

Years ago, it was I that first suggested to Captain Archer that he may have been harboring unresolved sexual tension towards his first officer. If I had not taken that step, perhaps he would have been content to withhold his sexual urges. I know, of course, that T'Pol sought him for a mate, yet she undoubtedly would not have done so if she did not believe reciprocation was probable. After all, I was privy to her decision making involving choosing a mate. The "logic" in choosing Admiral Archer was in part based on his feelings towards her.

Years ago, it was also I that suggested T'Pol assist Commodore Tucker with his loss using the quite intimate procedure of Vulcan neuropressure. Despite her protests, I managed to convince her that the sessions would be a benefit. Sadly, the incident with the Xindi colony proved me wrong. I cannot help but postulate that perhaps it was during those very intimate sessions that the seeds of the Ambassador's affection for Commodore Tucker first began to grow. As much as I would like to believe that Koval's conception was simply the result of Vulcan biology and timing, I know the Ambassador well enough to know her misery runs deeper than that.

Ah, Koval. Perhaps my greatest error was not in the interference I did take, but in the interference that I didn't take when I could have. When T'Pol first showed up in sickbay with the early symptoms of pregnancy, the biosigns revealed a truth she herself would never verbalize. I am quite possibly the only other sentiment being besides T'Pol that knows Koval's true parentage. Maybe I should have broken my silence then.

I could not have, of course. It was not my right to do so and speaking would have violated doctor-patient confidentiality. Regardless of the ensuing pain it has caused my three closest friends, I could not have told either Commodore Tucker or Admiral Archer the results of my scans. Doing so would have been unethical.

Doctor's ethics. Have I truly followed them, or have I made a mockery of them in the strongest possible way? Human doctors must take the Hippocratic Oath; Denobulans have a similar vow. First do no harm.

I cannot shake the feeling that I have contributed to a great deal of harm to my patients' lives.

But regardless of my contribution to their misery, I am not the one forcing them to remain within their unhappy spheres. It is, on an immensely sad level, quite an interesting study in human feelings—a term I'll apply even to T'Pol. Watching them, I have learned that love, honor, and duty are demanding, and often conflicting, taskmasters.

It is no doubt because of their conflictions that my well-meaning friends have chosen the wrong paths- ones that have caused them the most pain.

Admiral Archer's attempts to resolve the three have resulted in his remaining loyal to a marriage in which there is no passion. I know T'Pol cares for him, but not nearly in the fashion that a human such as him craves to be loved. From their visit a week ago, I can deduce that their sex life is active, if not necessarily fulfilling.

* * *

"Is she going to be okay, Phlox?"

"She'll recover in time."

"The condition, it isn't catching, is it? T'Pol isn't in any danger, is she?"

"She has never experienced any of the symptoms during your marriage?"

"No."

* * *

There was a decided wistfulness to the Admiral's "no." Still, the only reason for T'Pol not to have experienced pon far during the nineteen years she has been married to Admiral Archer would be that sexual release is frequent.

Yet the wistful tone was enough to convey the Admiral's belief that frequency did not equal fulfillment.

The Ambassador also conveyed a sense of loss during her visit.

* * *

"I am curious, T'Pol. What did Stokar mean when he said 'perhaps we will be successful this time'?"

"He most likely was referring to conception."

"Conception?"

"Indeed. Vulcan females can only conceive during pon far." __*

It is fortunate that we were alone for that conversation, I suppose. Fortunate not only because it would have revealed Koval's true parentage, but because T'Pol's voice also held a note of wistfulness.

Does her wistfulness reveal her to be thinking of a fourth former Enterprise crew member? Did my summons invoke painful memories of her own pon far—one that she shared within that Romulan prison with Commodore Tucker?

No. If the memories were painful, she would not have thought of them wistfully. Perhaps more accurately, she was reflecting on pleasant memories whose loss has transformed them into unpleasant thoughts to dwell upon.

Memories shared with equal strength by Commodore Tucker. Although I do not see him as frequently as I see the Ambassador and Admiral, we do keep in touch. I am able to relish the tolerance he has taught to young Charlie for other cultures. It is a trait that the stubborn and headstrong Commander Tucker did not always possess.

Then again, Commodore Tucker experienced many changes since his time in the Romulan prison with T'Pol. I often wonder if Admiral Archer sees any of the changes. While I do not understand how it is possible that he could not see them, he has given no indication that he has. Would not a friend as dear as Admiral Archer was to Commodore Tucker attempt some course of action if he saw the simple lack of joy in his friend's life? The carefree Commander of yesterday is gone.

How could the Admiral not see the difference? Humans have a saying, "love is blind." I suppose it is true in the case of my friends. Or perhaps more accurately for them, "love is foolish." Then perhaps his subconscious is refusing to see what is so obvious. For if it did, would it not also have to deal with the ramifications?

I recall that T'Pol used to offer the opinion that Commodore Tucker was not serious enough. I imagine that opinion has changed somewhat in the past nineteen years.

Or perhaps it changed in the span of only two weeks—the two weeks it took Enterprise to rescue Commodore Tucker and T'Pol. The time in which Koval was conceived.

I suppose if I am honest, I cannot possibly take the credit for the feelings between Commodore Tucker and Ambassador T'Pol. For even when she would complain-no, Vulcans don't "complain,"—even when she would voice the opinion that Commodore Tucker was illogical, irrational, not serious, or otherwise flawed, there was always an undercurrent of playfulness. The same playfulness would frequently be evident in Commodore Tucker's responses. Of course, there were times in which both grew exasperated with one another. Yet, underneath even their harshest moment of disharmony lay a foundation of innate respect and trust.

I see no such playfulness between the Admiral and the Ambassador. Nor do I see any playfulness between Commodore and Natalie Tucker. The respect is there, most certainly.

Sadly, T'Pol has no doubt learned by now that even a Vulcan thrives on playfulness.

No, I suppose that is an inaccurate assessment. There is utter joy in their interactions with their children, even for the Admiral whose own relationship with Koval is somewhat strained. But their own interpersonal relationships with their spouses is entirely void of liveliness that once defined the relationship between T'Pol and Commodore Tucker.

They have all made terrible mistakes and continue to propagate their own misery; yet, I blame none of them for their current situation. Instead, I feel only sympathy for the utter sadness of their situations.

While there can be no blame cast towards them or for myself, something did go awry along the way. I could indulge in the Human tradition of "what if". What if the Admiral had paid better attention to the blossoming relationship between his best friends? What if the Ambassador had not been initially frightened off by the raging emotions of Commodore Tucker? What if Commodore Tucker had plainly told the Admiral his true feelings for the T'Pol?

All of these events would have taken less than a minute to achieve. In that fraction of time in which other choices were made, the lives of my friends were irrevocably changed forever. It's distressing how a quirk of circumstances and choice can so drastically change the course of one's life for the worse.

If they were Denboluan, they would simply end their unions. But Denobulans do not hold fast to the foolish notions of love, honor, and duty in the same manner Humans and Vulcans do. Vulcans bond for life and Humans entertain foolish notions of "fairy tales," in which there must always be a happy ending. Ah, fairy tales. I recall fondly my Foosil's introduction to them. Ironically, it was in a conversation that involved a young Charlie and Koval along with a quite irate Maggie Reed.

* * *

"I'm not going to play a wimpy maid that can't defend herself," Maggie informed her playmates.

"Perhaps she is right, Charlie. This whole story does lack in logic," Koval spoke up. "Pumpkins simply cannot turn into a transportation device."

"But you have to. That's how Cinderella goes," Charlie protested. "And besides, Koval, you can't wimp out. You have to be the fairy god-mother."

At Maggie's giggle, Koval protested quite loudly, "I will NOT."

"Who is Cinderella and what is a fairy god-mother?" Foosil questioned.

"Cinderella's a fairy tale. A fairy god-mother is someone who grants the deepest wishes you have," Charlie provided. "Koval just doesn't want to be one cause in Cinderella she's a girl."

"Koval could be the prince," Maggie suggested.

"No, I'm gonna be the prince," Charlie argued.

"I will be the dragon," Koval stated.

"Perhaps I could play the fairy god-mother, if you'll tell me more about these fairy tales," Foosil offered.

"Okay. The first thing you have to know, is that they always have a happy ending," Maggie told him.

* * *

I hope for a happy ending for my friends. I care for them all and want to see them experience joy again. Unfortunately, I do not see how their present conditions could lead to such a ending. Although T'Pol may very well be figuratively locked in a tower away from her prince, the Admiral is not exactly a dragon. If that were the situation, then perhaps there would be hope for them. The situation is much more murky and conversely, so is the inevitable end. I fear that unless there are truly fairy god-mothers in existence, there will be no happy ending for Admiral Archer, Ambassador T'Pol, and Commodore Tucker.


	7. Mistakes of the Father: Charlie's POV

People—and Vulcansâ€”are stupid.

Okay, maybe that's a little harsh. But they do stupid things sometimes. Things to complicate their lives far beyond what they need to. Take for instance Koval. Koval, whom I love like a brother and want to see happy more than just about anyone, is quite possibly the stupidest sentient being I've ever known. Quite a feat too, given how smart he is.

I didn't think he'd actually go through with it. I thought he was smarter than that. I thought he'd chose to do what would have made him happy. But in the end, he chose what made the Admiral happy. He chose Starfleet. Koval, my dear, sweet, misguided friend, chose not to attend the Vulcan Science Academy, even though that's where his heart is. And why? All to serve some misguided notions of "honor" and "lineage" that matter to Vulcans.

How fucking logical is honor, anyway?

Oops, Charlie boy, calm down. But you know, for a species that prides itself on following a path of logic, sometimes Vulcans do awfully stupid, illogical things. The whole pon far thing isn't their fault, I guess. But according to So'Trip, sometimes they still fight for their mates. I'm not supposed to know that, of course, because I'm an illogical, emotional human who doesn't follow the path of Surak.

But I've never been stupid enough to try to warp logic around to an unrecognizable state as a means to justify my own emotions. At least when I'm being emotional, I have the guts to admit it. Isn't that honorable?

I do need to calm down. But my little chat with Koval put me in a bad mood.

* * *

"I can't believe you're choosin' Starfleet, Koval."

"It is my final decision, Charlie."

"Well, it's a stupid one. This isn't what ya want, Koval."

"If it was not, I would not have chosen this path."

"Ya only chose this path because you're tryin' to appease that insufferable ass—"

"You should not speak of the Admiral in such a manner."

* * *

Well, he is an insufferable ass. And a shitty father, too. Mr. "Being a Good Son Requires You to Be Exactly Like Me."

* * *

"Why not? Koval—"

"I understand your concern, Charlie. However, the Admiral has attempted to be a good father, even if his methods were incorrect. I would appreciate it if you would remember that in the future. Furthermore, you are now currently engaged in the very activity that you are accusing him of. Please refrain from being hypocritical."

* * *

Coming from Koval, that was as blunt of a rebuff as I'm ever going to get. Hell, I don't think he's ever actually been so irritated at me. Not since the whole "I am a Vulcan" mode he adopted around age five. Maybe it was earlier. I'm not sure. You see, unlike the Admiral, I've never minded Koval's Vulcan half. I've never tried to mold the stubborn Vulcan into being something he's not. But, oh, I get compared to the Admiral anyway.

I hardly think that's fair.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't you Americans have a saying something to the effect of, 'You had better hope your face doesn't freeze like that'?" Maggie asks from her seat in the pilot's chair.

"Funny, Maggie, real funny. I know Koval's your boyfriend, and all, and therefore you have to be on his side, but could ya maybe not add to my misery? And your dad might be English, but you're an American too. Unless someone moved San Francisco and forgot to tell us."

Maggie turns to give me a scowl. "Watch it, Tucker, unless you want to test the emergency eject in this shuttle. I follow no man aimlessly. Not even my Adun."

Bah. So she can pronounce fancy smancy Vulcan words like Adun. I can say "sa-kai." Not that Koval was in much of a mood to hear that tonight. "Whatever. Maggie-WATCH THE TREE!"

Pulling away sharply, Maggie laughs at my terror. Oh, she's on her Adun's side alright. Tryin' to kill me with a heart attack. Seeing my reaction, Koval's assassin remarks, "No worries, Tucker. You're flying with the best pilot to ever put on a Starfleet uniform."

"Funny. I was under the impression Captain Mayweather was still patrolling the Neutral Zone."

"Well, second best, then.

"Hmm. Commander Paris isn't still at the helm of the Excalibur?"

"Ha ha. Don't be cranky at me just cause you're mad at Koval."

"And I don't suppose ya think I have a right to be mad?"

"Not particularly. I think you're over-reacting a tad."

"Figures."

"You did insult his father, Charlie. That wasn't entirely proper of you."

"I always insult the Admiral. Koval's never gotten pissy before."

"Well, maybe this time you struck a nerve."

"Maggie, the man's a xenophobic, intolerant, petulant child in the body of a sixty year old man with the intelligence of a dead amoeba! Now I imagine that sucks to have as a father, but I wasn't tryin' to insult his dad. I was just tryin' to get him to see—"

"Charlie." Maggie's voice is considerably quieter this time. Okay, so she wants me to shut up. "You know as well as I do that Koval and his father have problems. They've always had problems. In addition, Koval has had to watch both you and I go through life with fathers who love us as much as the Admiral does Koval, but who are much more adept at showing it. You honestly can't see how that would upset Koval? Especially after he's spent weeks pouring over this decision? A very emotional one at that?" Okay, so maybe I was callous. "I didn't think—"

"No, it's apparent that you didn't. We're pulling in for a landing. Hold on."

I cast a couple of glares at the back of Maggie's head as we land. True, the property around my parent's house is a bit rocky, but I'd almost swear she landed rough on purpose. She didn't need to. I already got the point. I'm an ass.

Not as much of an ass as the Admiral, though.

* * *

After my little spat with Koval, I needed to talk to someone that would understand. Normally, the person I take my problems to is Koval. He's unavailable, though, for obvious reasons. I'd also feel comfy talking to Maggie, but she's obviously biased. Given the personal nature of my problem, I wanted to take it to someone I was close to, so the next obvious choice was Dad. Maggie insisted on flying the shuttle, because she claims I was too mad to fly responsibly.

That's possible.

As I wander up the path, I can vaguely hear the voices of my parents coming from the house. Mostly it's the voice of my mother, who doesn't seem very happy about something. Hmph. Must be something in the air. I briefly debate going back to the Academy, but I really want to talk to Dad. So, taking a deep breath, I open the door. Turns out, I'm just in time to hear my mother throw an accusation at my father.

"You're abandoning us, Charles Tucker."

That's not something I ever expected to hear my mother say to my father. Primarily because I could never believe that my father would ever actually abandon us.

My parents are in the living room and as of yet, haven't heard me come in. I suppose it's not very polite to stand here and eaves-drop. But I'm going to do it anyway.

"I'm not abandonin' ya, Natalie. And I'm certainly not abandonin' Charlie," my father protests.

"Then what do you call it?" my mother demands.

"I call it needin' to go. Needin' to be free of this place now that it's...empty."

"It's not empty! I'm here."

"But it's just you and me, Nat. This house is too big for just us—"

"We can move to a smaller house."

"It's not just the house, Nat."

"No, of course it isn't." I'm surprised at the sudden venom in my mother's voice. "It has to do more with Ambassador T'Pol, doesn't it?"

What the hell does Ambassadors T'Pol have to do with anything? And why would my parents be fighting over Koval's mother? I should leave. Eaves-dropping is rude. Really rude. And yet...

"Leave her out of this, Nat. She doesn't have anything to do with—"

"The hell she doesn't. You expect me to believe that, Trip? I know you're in love with her."

What? Has my mother lost her mind?

"Nat—"

"See? You can't even deny it. The pathetic part is she's in love with you too. Did either you or she ever stop to consider how disrespectful your little charade is to your wife or her husband?"

"Even if what you're sayin' is true, Natalie—"

"Don't you dare deny it, Trip Tucker. I think you owe me a hell of a lot more than that."

I think they both owe me a hell of a lot more than this conversation. An explanation, for instance. Dad's in love with T'Pol? T'Pol returns it?

"Owe? What more could I possibly owe ya, Natalie? I've been completely and utterly devoted to you since the day you showed up on my doorstep with Charlie."

Ouch. You know, it's one thing to know you were an accident. It's another entirely to hear your father say it.

"Only because you didn't have a choice. The Vulcan tramp was already married to your supposed best friend, wasn't she?"

"Don't call her that."

"Oh, of course not. The Vulcan is perfect and wonderful, isn't she, Trip? So much on a pedestal that you can't have her. Well, I hope you never do. It would serve you right to learn what it's like to want something you can't ever have."

"What the hell would you know about wanting for anything, Natalie? For the entire two decades we've been married, you've always gotten your way. I married you. I agreed that Charlie was enough children. I attended your damn social events that I hated. I gave up any semblance of a career to remain here on Earth. You've wanted for nothin'."

"You're wrong, Trip. I've wanted for a husband that isn't pining for someone else. I've wanted for a husband that doesn't call out the name of someone else in his sleep. And now I want a husband that isn't going to go off to have a galactic affair with the trollop now that his son has left home."

"My job as a commissioner for Starfleet is going to keep me far away from T'Pol. I'll never even see her, Nat."

"And so help me, Trip, if you take this job, you'll never see me again, either." My mother laughs a short, bitter laugh before adding, "Not that I should think that matters to you."

* * *

A few door slams later, I manage to digest the information and make some semblance of a thought. My father never denied feeling anything for the Ambassador. That must mean he is in love with her. And he only married my mother because of me. Which I guess makes both their misery my fault.

I really shouldn't have picked today to come home.

But it's too late. I did come home, and something compels me to continue to the living room to see my father. I find him sitting on the couch. He's hunched over, with his face buried in his hands. Oh, hell. I really hope he isn't crying. I've only seen my father cry twice in my life, and both times it felt like my world was no longer spinning on its axis. The first time was when Grandma Tucker died. The second time was when I accidentally fell off a barn roof.

* * *

"What in the world ever possessed you to think you should climb a barn, Charles Tucker?"

"Dad, please don't cry. I'm okay, really."

"I know. But Charlie, ya don't understand. When I heard what happened, I just felt so helpless. You were hurt, but there was nothin' I could do."

* * *

Damn. I feel that way right now. Parents aren't supposed to cry. Maybe I should go. Comfort Mom? But no, she's probably cryin' too. And I already heard her side of things. I want to know Dad's.

Should be easy enough. So, Dad, are you in love with Koval's mom? Ugh. Maybe I should go.

"Hey, Charlie." The sound of Dad's voice startles me out of my thoughts. Raising my head to look at him, I'm startled at how old Dad looks. The face that always seemed to smile in my childhood is now drawn together in a frown. Not an angry frown, but the frown of someone who's trying his hardest not to break down into sobs.

I wonder if he wants to cry over Mom or over Koval's mom? I'd really prefer the angry frown. I'd know how to handle that.

The frown has only accented the deep wrinkles that cross his face. Sure, Dad's always had wrinkles. But I've only noticed them under his eyes and around his mouth. Right now they appear as though they could over take his entire face at any given moment and suck the life right out of him with the shear force of the weight.

I really shouldn't have come home today.

"Charlie?" my father repeats. He sounds concerned now, not as sad. Concerned is good. It's certainly better than sad.

"Hey, Dad." There should be more, but I seem to have lost the capacity to form the words. Damn.

Dad looks at me for a long moment, apparently having the same difficulty. So much for the insightful conversation I wanted to have. Finally, he manages, "So how much did you hear?"

"Is it true?"

"I've been offered a job as a Commissioner for Starfleet," he says slowly, shaking his head. "I'm gonna take it, Charlie. I'd love for your momma to come too, but—"

"But she hates space travel and would never do it," I finish for him.

He nods. "I'm sorry for breakin' up your home, kiddo."

I don't know what to say to that, except, so I ignore it and ask, "Is the rest of what Mom claims true?"

Dad sucks in his breath, as though the very action of breathing is too tasking for him. Again, the mortality of my father is spookily evident. I try to push the thought away.

"About T'Pol?"

I nod. I wait, hoping the same gentle voice that used to quiet my fears as a child to do the same now. I need the same voice that smoothed away bad dreams to slay this demon just as he used to do to the red-eyed widgets that I believed lived under my bed. Please, Dad. Tell me it isn't true. You aren't in love with my best friend's mom. Your marriage to Mom hasn't been a sham. You didn't toss away a lifetime of happiness because of me. No, no, no. Please say no.

There's long enough of a pause that I wonder if he's going to answer me. His eyes close and open, and close again. He doesn't need to say the words out loud. He's already answered me. Still, as I'm trying to process that information, he softly says, "Yes." The one word seemed to sap the remaining life out of my father. He sinks back into the couch and closes the eyes again, even tighter.

That's when I know I can't be angry with him. I walk over to the couch and sit down beside him. For a few minutes, we just sit there, neither one willing—or able—to talk. Again, I wish I hadn't came home. But I did, because I wanted Dad's comfort. Turns out, I need to give him some comfort instead.

But how should I do that? Gee, Dad, I'm sorry you're not in love with Mom? Ouch. I REALLY shouldn't have come home today.

"I'm sorry, kiddo."

"You don't have to be sorry, Dad."

"Yeah, well, maybe I should be anyway. I hurt you're momma, and I never meant to. I hurt ya and I never meant to. I hurt T'Pol and I never meant to. If the Admiral ever knew, it'd kill 'em, I think. And I never meant to."

Knew what? "If the Admiral knew what? That you were in love with his wife?"

He winces. Okay, I could have a little more tact. No wonder Koval yelled at me today. Why don't I have any manners? "I mean, did you and Ambassador T'Pol ever-ya know...um, were you...together?" Ugh, how could I have asked that? Is that even something I want to know? No. Absolutely not.

It's too late, though, because I already asked it. And Dad's already given me another non-Verbal response. Oh, hell. They were. They did. Shit, shit, shit. This is...I need to go.

But I can't move from my spot on the couch. "Was it before ya knew about me?"

Dad gives me a funny look. "Yeah, it was long before I knew about ya, Charlie. Before the Admiral and T'Pol were married."

So, I didn't screw up your happiness? Well, that doesn't make any sense. "If it was before the Admiral married T'Pol and before you knew about me, then why...?"

No, don't cry again. Please? Not hearing my silent plea, Dad sniffles and wipes his sleeve. "The Admiral was already in love with her, Charlie. I was tryin' not to break his heart."

"But..." No, it's better not to point out that according to Koval, his parents aren't happy anyway. Let me exercise some tact. "Is what Mom says about T'Pol returnin' it true?"

Drooping his head slightly, my father nods. "Hell...she knew before I did." I can see how much that concession cost him and I feel like I should stop this questioning. But I can't. There's so much more I need to know.

"I don't understand. If she was in love with you, and you were in love with her, why on Earth didn't ya end up together?"

My father takes a minute to run his hands through his hair. It's so gray. "I thought I was doin' the right thing, Charlie. I thought it was honorable."

"Oh, fuck honor!" It's out before I can take it back and clearly startles my father. "What's with you and Koval, anyway? Why must honor always take precedence over personal happiness?"

Dad's only response is a sigh. Guess I over-reacted. Again. "I'm sorry, Dad."

He shakes his head. "No, kiddo, it's me that's sorry. I'm sorry for everything I've done, everything I didn't do, and I'm sorry for havin' to go."

"Dad, I understand your leavin'. Now that I'm gone, there's no reason to stay with Mom anymore and being around the Ambassador every day's gotta hurt."

"Yes, it certainly does," he admits.

There's such pain in those words. "A change in scenery'll do ya good. Do ya know where you're goin' to be stationed?"

"Initially at the Kowl colony," Dad responds.

Well, he'll get to see Captain Mayweather more often. I didn't expect it to be so far away. But then, I guess that's the point of Dad taking the position, isn't it? "I'll miss ya, Dad."

"I know, Charlie. But I'll ALWAYS be here for ya, ya know that. And I'm sorry that I can't stay. And I'm sorry that you're momma's gonna probably want a divorce, because of it."

I turn and clasp his shoulder firmly. "Dad. Stop apologizing. I'm staring my senior year at the Academy in July. I'm old enough to take care of myself. As for Mom...I'm sorry ya don't have feelings for her, Dad. And part of me is irritated at stayin' with her, when ya love someone else. But, she chose to stay too, when she clearly knew that you were in love with someone else. And no matter what, you were always a wonderful father."

Damn it. Why is the man tearing up again? That speech was supposed to make him happier! Damnit, damnit, damnit. I can't handle it anymore. I really do have to go. I stand up.

"Thanks, Charlie," Dad says, also rising. He grabs me in a hug that momentarily makes it hard to breathe, but I can't find the ability to protest anywhere. It feels rather nice, truth be told. I savior it, for all the times that he'll be too far away for me to hug. But I don't tell him that. After all, Dad's spent the past eighteen odd years sacrificing things to make others happy. It's about damn time he did something to make himself happy.

* * *

I'm already out the door by the time I realize that I didn't get to talk to Dad about Koval. Oh, hell. Somehow, given the importance of the revelations, my spat with Koval just doesn't seem important anymore.

To my surprise, Maggie is leaning casually against the shuttlepod, still waiting for me. "Hey, it's about time you were done. Rant enough?" she asks.

"Yeah, thanks for waitin', Maggie."

"Hey, I come from dependable stock, you know. I am a Reed, after all."

I bite down the impulse to tell her that she possibly has the sanest former Enterprise crew member as her parent. "Just be glad you aren't a Tucker or an Archer. We're all screwed up."

"What?"

"Never mind. Let's go." I can't tell her the revelations, of course. I can't tell anyone. Not even Koval, I guess.

On the way back to Starfleet, I mentally count the time left until Dad takes off for the Kowl colony. He's not leaving until July. By then, I'll have started my last year at the Academy.

Oh, hell. Maybe it's a good thing that Koval isn't choosing to do what makes him happy. By coming to the Academy, he'll be able to help me get over the pain of loosing Dad. I guess maybe I should apologize to him, in that case. Speaking of Koval, I'm never going to be able to look at him with a serious face and be able to call him, "sa-kai" without thinking how close he came to actually being my biological brother. If only Dad and Ambassador T'Pol hadn't been so stupid in their choices...

I've heard of alternate universes before, and I can't help but wonder if it's possible that out of all the other universes, there's one in which that actually happened. I'd like to visit that universe someday. But then again, I'd have to come back. Given how everything has turned out for everyone that I love in this universe, I'm not so sure I'd be willing to do so.


	8. T'Pol and Trip Revisited

_Seven months later..._

My son is leaving in thirteen days. He has chosen the unexpected path of Starfleet Academy.

No doubt his decision is due, in part, to the revelations revealed to him seven months and one week ago. The revelations have demonstrated a considerable change in my son. He has simultaneously sought to spend more time with his biological father, while demonstrating heretofore uncharacteristic patience towards Jonathan.

I understand Koval's attitude towards Jonathan. For, while I do not experience passion for my mate, I do hold affection for him. That affection may be minuscule in contrast to the affection I hold for another. Nonetheless, I would not seek to cause him intentional pain.

Although, apparently, I have.

Perhaps my son is attempting to compensate for the unintentional pain his birth parents bestowed upon the man who raised him as his son. If that were the case, however, I would expect him to react with greater anger towards me. He holds none. I can only take that as proof that he understood what I had done for his behalf and what Commodore Tucker had done for the Admiral's behalf. I am immensely relieved that my son has not lost his affection towards me. In a marriage that has not been personally rewarding, Koval has been my center and purpose in my personal life.

Soon my center will be gone.

It was an inevitable end. Yet I foolishly permitted my focus to be on the present, rather than the future during Koval's upbringing. Was it not logical? My previous attempts to predict the future had been decidedly unsuccessful. .

Although it is not acceptable for a Vulcan to do so, there are occasions during which I chose instead to dwell upon the past. Mostly my thoughts center around Koval, Commodore Tucker, and Jonathan. Yet there are times I wonder how my life would have been different if I had chosen Koss as my bondmate and left Enterprise.

To be certain, much of the personal growth that occurred aboard that ship would not have taken place.

Yet...

If I had left Enterprise, I would have been spared the affection I grew to have towards Commodore Tucker. An affection which I foolishly set aside in order to marry Jonathan. But truthfully, did I not already have the affection for Commander Tucker? Was it not his argument that convinced me to stay upon the ship? If I did not already have some inkling of affection, would I not have returned home?

A chime at the door startles me from my thoughts. If it was either Jonathan or Koval, they would not ring the chime. Glancing out the window, I find the visitor to be Commodore Tucker. No...Commissioner Tucker. For, in fourteen days, he too shall be gone. I shall lose my son and my beloved in the span of twenty-four human hours.

I hesitate in answering the door, half hoping he will give up and leave. For all that I treasure him, his very presence is disruptive to the composure I have so consciously constructed. While I cannot force myself to express passion I do not feel in Jonathan's presence, it is barely within my capability to force myself to remain in control in Commissioner Tucker's presence. Is it not fitting that the only man with whom I surrendered my control to completely is also the man that threatens to steal my control whenever I come in contact with him?

I am engaging in hyperbole. Hyperbole and emotion. Such. . human sentiments. It is of little wonder that they are associated with that man.

Again the door chimes and my desire to see my beloved alone overwhelm the need to remain in control.

* * *

Damnit, why isn't she answering the door? I know she's home. The Federation Council meeting was cancelled today. I also know she's alone, because Koval, Charlie, Maggie, and Foosil are off on some final trip together. And the Admiral's still at Headquarters. For all the man whines about being a figure head, you'd think he realize sooner or later that he's a high ranking Admiral within the Federation. But I don't want to dwell on the Admiral's foolishness today. That's not why I'm here.

I'm here to say goodbye.

She already knows that I'm leaving, of course. She also probably knows that I'm getting a divorce. I'm not really sure why I'm here. Hell, I've already hurt Natalie and Charlie. My being here may hurt T'Pol too. That's the last thing I want. Or is it? Maybe that's why I'm here. Maybe I want to see if I still can hurt her. If I still matter that much to her. Natalie thinks so, but I haven't seen any proof. Is that why I'm here? Seeking proof that she still loves me? That her "passion" still lies with me? That's sick. No. I'm here to tell her goodbye. To tell her I'm sorry. And to see that beautiful face one last time before I go.

The door opens.

* * *

"Please, come in. Would you like some tea?" Distantly, I remember asking him the same question years ago, while we were still in the Expanse. He rejected my offer then, as he does now.

Although the memory is distant, the memory of the feel of my fingers on his skin and the converse feeling of his fingers on mine is not. It is a memory that is still very sharp and clear—one that I can see the instant I close my eyes, if only for a moment.

I have grown increasingly emotional and he has only been in my domain for two minutes. I must suppress such feelings. Now is not the time to dwell upon the pleasure I once felt at the touch of Charles Tucker's skin. Nor is it the time to dwell upon the lingering desire I have to touch him again.

When I am able to focus on his presence instead of my emotional attachment, I realize he is nervous. His hands convey his nervousness by moving restlessly over his hips, behind his back, and lightly grazing his hindquarters before finding his hips again. I find myself envious of their travels—a thought which takes a great deal of effort to suppress.

I should not have let him in. "Please be seated, Commissioner."

When he sits, I notice that he takes residence in the oldest piece of furniture Jonathan and I possess. It is a late Victorian style rocking chair in which my mate frequently rocked Koval as a child. I take time to observe his presence in the chair and find regret once again to be a palpable emotion.

How is it possible that one man could incite so many different emotions, both positive and negative simultaneously? I think of Jonathan, who incites very little, and wonder how he would react to knowing that the passion he seeks is so easily aroused by another man. Trying to disregard such thoughts, I remind myself that Jonathan's reaction to such was why Charles turned me away.

But that does not change the fact that I would have preferred seeing Charles' arms hold Koval and caress away his childhood cries. Admittedly, I would also have preferred to have felt those arms envelop me as well.

Why does he not speak? "Is there a reason for your visit, Commissioner Tucker? The Admiral is not here."

* * *

Commissioner. Such a cold, impersonal term. Once upon a time, she called me Trip. It was brief—only a week. But for that one week, I was Trip. We were together. Life was good.

It's pretty much been hell since. Then again, that's why I'm leaving, isn't it?

"Yeah...T'Pol...I came to say goodbye."

I sneak a glance back up at her, to try to gauge her reaction. She's as stoic as ever, though. Her arms are crossed across her chest and she's just looking at me, as if to say, what the hell was the point of coming over here to say that?

Or maybe, 'you turned me away almost twenty years ago, Charles Tucker, and you have the audacity to come to me now?' Her posture doesn't even start to prepare me for what comes out of her mouth. "Your decision is costing you your marriage. Why are you intent upon pursuing the path?"

She does still care. Natalie was right. Damn. I shouldn't be happy about it, should I? But part of me is. True, part of me is devastated that she still cares for me. After all, if she does, she can't be happy. But on the other hand...part of me rejoices that she hasn't forgotten how she used to feel for me. That's sick, Trip. Really, really sick.

"It's complicated, T'Pol."

"You are here. I believe you owe me an explanation."

I glance up sharply at that. Her stance hasn't changed, nor has her expression. But there was definite anger in her voice. I'll grant her that. She has a right to be angry at me. Aren't I the one who screwed everything up? "I realized how empty my home was gonna be, now that the boys are gone. And well...I can't stay here anymore."

"Why not?"

"It's too lonely, T'Pol. Too empty."

* * *

Lonely? Empty? I find it difficult to believe that he could experience such emotions. "There is no one reason for you to remain?"

"Nothing, T'Pol."

"And no one." I did not expect to say it. But in this man's presence, logic escaped me, as it has so many times before.

My sentence has startled him. He is surveying me now. No doubt he is wondering where my Vulcan reserve has gone. Finally, he speaks again. "There's one person I'd like to stay for, T'Pol, but I can't. She-she and I can't be together."

Regret, lust, envy, and now jealously. The path of Surak is not within my sight. "Natalie is divorcing you. It is unlikely that your union is a productive one."

"Natalie? Hell, I'm not talkin' 'bout Natalie, T'Pol."

Then about whom are you speaking? "I apologize. I did not believe you would be an unfaithful husband. Although, perhaps I should have realized it was a strong likelihood."

I had ached before, when I thought only the mother of his other child held what I longed to possess as my own. Comparatively to what I experience now, that pain was nothing.

"Excuse me, T'Pol, but what the hell are you talking about?" Those blue eyes flash now, with something akin to anger. Let him be angry. I believe he has little justification for such an emotion.

"You have previously shown yourself to be fickle in your sexual encounters." I held you for only a week.

He is no longer sitting. He is now truly angry. I am...gratified at his emotional discomfort. Have I not known emotional discomfort for nineteen years? It is entirely past time for him to endure similar feelings. "When exactly have I been fickle?"

* * *

"Ah'len, Kaitamma, Liana."

Dear merciful God. Isn't she ever going to let those go? "Those were years ago, T'Pol. I'm a bit different man now."

"Charlie's conception was also due to your fickle nature." Where is this coming from? "Kindly leave my son out of this conversation. That's not something you know anything about."

She's pissed at something, although hell if I know what it is. But that stoic stance of hers can't hind the deep breaths and angry swallows. "I will gladly leave...your son...out of the conversation. You are correct in ascertaining that I know nothing of your relationship with Natalie, Ah'len, Katitamma, or Liana."

"That's for damn sure." I wished she hadn't emphasized "your son." I don't need a reminder of Koval in this conversation. Not while I'm in the Admiral's home, with the Admiral's wife—in a house that only serves as a reminder of what might have been.

"I can vouch from personal experience, however, that abandoning sexual partners is not an activity that causes you a great deal of distress."

Had T'Pol shot me with a phase pistol, she couldn't have hurt me more. She thinks...that I just tossed her aside, because I was finished with her? What did I ever say or do to make her think I'm such a callous bastard?

But I know the answer to that. I turned her away. I have to let her know before I go that she's wrong. "T'Pol...you're wrong. I didn't...I wasn't thinking straight when we came back. I kept thinkin' about the Captain's feelings—not yours or mine."

Her arms remained crossed, although her eyebrows furrow a bit. Damnit, she has to understand. How can I undo nineteen years of misunderstanding in less than fourteen days? "T'Pol—"

"Please do not lie in an attempt to placate me, Commissioner," she says.

"I'm not lying!" I shout, exasperated. It's been so long since T'Pol and I have had a good long talk that I've forgotten how she used to rankle me so easy. It's frustrating and yet, so incredibly right.

She doesn't budge.

"Damnit, T'Pol, I'm talkin' about you! It's you that I can't be together with."

The eyebrows do a reverse course as they retreat into her hairline. She's thinking about what I said and I wait. I'm afraid to breathe, lest it interrupt her concentration.

"That is...upsetting to you?"

Upsetting? I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Are you serious? You honestly can't tell?"

"You have given me no...indication that my affection for you was reciprocated."

I haven't seen that expression in nineteen years. It's the same one that she wore when I told her...when I rejected her. Told her she had to marry the Captain. When I made the single biggest mistake of my life. "T'Pol. I'm sorry I haven't made it more clear. I should have made it more clear from the very start."

"Made what more clear?" she demands.

* * *

Have I no control tonight? It is quite possible that I do not. I should not have let him in.

Not now and not nineteen years ago.

But if he is going to leave me again, I will at least be granted the knowledge that he has experienced pain over our separation as well.

He is clearly upset. "Do I have to spell it out for ya, T'Pol?" The accent has become thicker, more pronounced. I have missed hearing it on a frequent basis.

I could let him go now. Easily, I could tell him that I understand what he is attempting to communicate to me. And then he would leave and I could regain the control that I have lost.

I will not permit him the ease of not finishing his sentence. I remain silent.

Again his hands become restless. I watch with returned envy as they reach his scalp and ruffle the blond locks that grace his features. It is with great difficulty that I ignore the image in my memory of those locks tousled from activity and dampened with sweat.

Can one physically ache with longing?

I grow weary of his unwillingness to finish what he began. Both at the present and nineteen years ago. "If you are finished, Commissioner, then I have other tasks to attend—"

"Goddamnit, T'Pol, I love you. I've always loved you, long before you chose to start datin' the Captain. It tore me apart when you and he got together, and the time we spent together was the sweetest week of my life, one I even dream about now. Letting you go was the biggest mistake I've ever made, and one I truly regret."

The concession was one which cost him. He is heaving now, the deep breaths shaking his entire frame. I am satisfied. He burns with the same intensity as I do. It is irrational and illogical, clearly. Nonetheless, I am gratified that it was truly only his concern for the Captain that kept us apart and not a lack of desire for me.

Such an emotional response.

"I equally regret—" No, Vulcans do not regret. "Circumstances are equally undesirable for both of us."

* * *

Before I realize what I'm doing, my hands have found a resting place on her shoulders. It feels delightful. And right. When I feel T'Pol tense, however, I quickly jerk my hands away. "I'm sorry, T'Pol." I seem to be saying that a lot lately. "I know how much Vulcans don't like to touch."

Her hand raises to my mouth and she extends her index finger, as though she is going to prove me wrong. As her finger gently outlines my mouth without making contact, she murmurs, "That depends entirely on whom we are touching."

Her finger hovers briefly before she retracts it and curls her hand into a fist, which she cradles against her chest. "All Vulcans, however, bond for life." With that, she walks away from me and walks to the chair I sat in only moments before.

The message of what she's telling me is loud and clear. She's sorry that we're both miserable. She's sorry that I'm leaving. But she can't go with me. I wouldn't ask her to, of course. It'd hurt the Admiral, and even if he doesn't always treat her with the greatest respect, I guess he still loves her. But if she offered to go, I'm pretty sure I couldn't turn her away. Not again.

"I know, T'Pol."

"There are exceptions," she mutters softly. I don't know if she's talking to herself or to me, but either way, I decide not to interrupt. "But in order to disrupt a Vulcan union, I would have to show that the spouse has severely violated the tenets of Surak by bringing disgrace to them in some fashion."

"That shouldn't be too hard to do, in the Admiral's case," I grumble.

"No...the very fact that he is human would enable me to seek a divorce in a relatively rapid fashion. However, the ramifications for Koval—"

"Would be devastatin'."

"Indeed. Although he is technically an adult—"

"You don't have to explain it to me, T'Pol. I know all about Vulcan lineage. Kov and I had a little chat about it about nineteen years ago." Okay, so I could have not said that.

"I have been relieved that you stayed in touch with Koval. Particularly given the turbulent relationship he has with Jonathan, his relationship with you has been especially comforting. I wish to thank you."

"I couldn't have done less, T'Pol. But I would have liked to have done more."

"It is not coincidental that your departure coincides with Koval's?" she asks.

"No, it's not. T'Pol, I love you. A thousand times over. But you and I can't be together. And watching you day in and day out with the Admiral—" a man that doesn't even appreciate you—"kills me. I suffered through it because I wanted to be close to Koval. Or as close as I could be. But he's gone now. And the emptiness I already feel every time I see you, or Natalie, or the Admiral is only going to be more noticeable now that my last legitimate tie to you is gone."

Please understand. I love you. I want to be with you. But I can't. So I have to go. I'm running away. I'm sorry.

"I understand the desire not to be near a catalyst for undesirable emotions," she murmurs.

Oh, nothing about you is undesirable.

"You came here today seeking...closure?" she asks.

"I've been seeking it for nineteen years, T'Pol. Haven't found it yet."

"Perhaps you will find it closer to the Neutral Zone."

"Maybe."

The clock chimes.

"It's getting late, T'Pol. The Admiral will be getting back soon, and I know ya will want to meditate before then."

T'Pol gazes at me with an expression I'm pretty sure is sadness. Damn it. I made a Vulcan sad. More than once. "Indeed. It takes a sufficient amount of meditation to cope with our living arrangement."

"I'm sorry, T'Pol. I'm sorry for everything I did, and everything I didn't do." That sounds familiar. Ah, it was the same thing I said to Charlie. Maybe I should tell Koval before I leave, just to make it official. Hell, maybe I should tell the Admiral too. 'Course, he'd wonder why. And the truth would kill him.

Which is why it's a good thing that Vulcans bond for life.

Good for him, anyway.

"Please do not apologize. You cannot undo your past actions." She stands, walks over to me, and holds up her hand in the familiar Vulcan greeting. Pausing briefly, she extends her hand past her shoulder, until it is directly in front of me. Then she closes the gap between her second and third finger, and swivels her hand in a ninety degree angle and brings it straight down. She's offering to shake my hand.

How fitting. The first time we met, she refused. And now that I'm leaving and saying goodbye when I want nothing more than to stay, she's offering me her hand. I take it, grasping with all my might.

Vulcans are much stronger, of course and T'Pol squeezes mine even tighter. "I believe your people have a saying 'Out of Sight, Out of Mind'? May you find that to be an accurate descriptor in your travels."

Refusing to let go of her hand, I shake my head. "Oh, no, T'Pol. I might be going to get you out of sight, but you'll never be out of mind. Not on Kowl, not in the Neutral Zone, not on the other side of the galaxy. You'll always be in my mind, because you'll always be in my heart."

She nods and begins to pull her hand away. I have to fight the urge to fight herâ€”to keep the hand within my grasp. It's silly, but the only part of her I've been allowed to touch in so long...I don't want to let go.

As her hand pulls away from mine, her index and middle finger linger, brushing lightly past mine. I don't give her any indication I remember what it means, but I do. A Vulcan kiss is very special. Especially if it's a Vulcan kiss goodbye.

"Live long and prosper, T'Pol." I'm pretty certain my voice cracked somewhere in that sentence. Possibly more than once.

"Take care that you do as well. If either your life or prosperity is harmed while you have sought refuge from my presence, I shall lose the ability for either longevity or prosperity."

Unbidden, I recall a phrase she spoke once before. "You are essential to my existence." Still true, after all these years. Then again, my emotions haven't changed, why should hers? More proof we belong together.

My legs feel fairly numb as I force them to turn and walk out the door, back to my nearly empty home. As I do, I think of the poor, stupid soul who first came up with, "It's better to have and love and to have lost than to have never loved at all." Who was that? Shakespeare? Hemingway? Whoever the poor, dumb bastard was, I hope his death was painful and he went straight to hell for telling such an outrageous lie.

I also wish he were here right now, so I could shoot him with a phase pistol. Or worse yet, I'd put him in my shoes for the past nineteen years, leading up to and including today. That'd hurt a hell of a lot worse.

* * *

As he leaves, I realize a mixture of emotions—for the are too strong to be denied or called by any other name—are present. Chief among them are pain and relief. The reason for the pain is obvious. The relief? Because he is no longer threatening my emotional control.

Is that not the very reason I chose Jonathan Archer as my mate? With Charles, I feel. I experience emotion which threatens the core of my Vulcan being. It has always been true, from the first moment we met. Anger, jealousy, lust, desire, irritation, pain, joy, frustration, enjoyment—all of these have been experienced in Charles' presence, and all within the first year of our service together. Perhaps within the first month.

During the same amount of time, I develop a trust and a friendship with Jonathan Archer. Affection, perhaps. But nothing stronger. He did not challenge my control.

By the time of the Expanse, I knew my reactions to both men well. Jonathan was reliable, trustworthy, and safe. Charles was trustworthy, and reliable, but dangerous. Whereas I held only affection for Jonathan, I held affection and passion for Charles. Simply, Charles made me feel. There was no such danger while in Jonathan's presence. He did not...does not...make me feel.

It is unfortunate that Charles insists upon blaming himself. I share the blame, at the very least. If I had not been a coward and had not ran from emotions, then the three of us—along with Koval—would quite possibly not be in such discomfort.

The correct path that I should have taken seems so clear. In contrast, none of my options in the present are as clear, for none of them have more positive outcomes than negative ones. If I abandon my post as Jonathan's wife, I shall permit my affection for Charles to take precedence over my duty as Jonathan's wife and Koval's mother. If I remain, I shall permit duty to take precedence over affection.

I have chosen the latter. Regardless of my decision, however, some obligation—duty, affection, honor, loyalty—is destined to remain unfinished.

A memory from many years ago forces its way into my memory despite my attempts to block it out.

The decontamination chamber.

Commander Tucker and I.

His fingers caress and linger upon my skin. His warm breath and intense voice whisper in my ear.

"Then again, loyalty's an emotion, isn't it?"

He was speaking of our opposing duties to Captain Archer. The irony is unwelcome and unnecessary to dwell upon.

I would prefer not to think of loyalty as an emotion. If I were choosing the emotional path, would I not simply follow Charles to the Kowl colony? Undoubtedly, however, the responses loyalty invokes are emotional. For Koval, loyalty has invoked pain. For Jonathan, loyalty has invoked restlessness. For Charles, loyalty has invoked self-loathing. For myself, loyalty has invoked all of the previous emotions as well as regret.

In the face of such negative emotional responses, I sometimes have difficulty remembering why I hold fast to the sentiment. Contemplating the potential ramifications, I must remind myself that abandoning my loyalty to Jonathan would have more negative consequences than positive for myself, Jonathan, Charles, and most of, Koval.

I must meditate. Immediately. Charles' visit has caused numerous emotional responses to surface. They must be purged before Jonathan returns home. Otherwise, he will receive the passionate wife he craves but the passion would be for another. He can never know that only when I am completely passionless can I truly be free of the emotion Charles stirs within me. Thus, what Jonathan dislikes the most about our relationship is the one thing I must continue in order to remain loyal.

When he touches me, I do not recoil in disgust. I give myself willingly and frequently. Regardless, there are times when my consciousness does wander. During those brief moments, I contemplate how different our lives would be if I allowed my affection to be satisfied and allowed duty to go unfulfilled. Perhaps then I would experience happiness, the one human emotion that has remained elusive.


End file.
